THEODORA'S 
HUSBAND 


LOUISE  MACK 


THEODORA'S    HUSBAND 


THEODORA'S 
HUSBAND 


BY 

LOUISE    MACK 

AUTHOR  OF 

'  THE  RED  ROSE  OF  A  SUMMER,"  "AN  AUSTRALIAN  GIRL  IN  LONDON,1 

"CHILDREN  OF  THE  SUN,"  "TEENS,"  "GIRLS  TOGETHER," 

"  THE  WORLD  IS  ROUND,"  ETC. 


NEW   YORK 

JOHN    LANE    COMPANY 
MCMX 


PRINTED  IN   ENGLAND  BY 
WILLIAM  CLOWES  AND  SONS,  LIMITED, 


TO 

K.    MCI. 

WHO   HAS   TAUGHT   ME  ACROSS    SEAS   AND 
YEARS     THE      MEANING     OF     FRIENDSHIP 


2137243   ' 


THEODORA'S     HUSBAND 


CHAPTER  I 

"  HOME  comforts,  bright  and  cheerful  society  of  un- 
exceptionable tone,  hot  and  cold  water,  whist- drive 
every  Thursday,  beautiful  sea-views,  excellent  French 
cooking ;  moderate  terms  during  the  season,  and 
special  low  terms  during  the  winter  ;  en  pension  from 
five  francs  a  day  inclusive." 

Thus  ran  the  alluring  advertisement  that  filled 
Pension  Ducre  up  to  the  garrets  and  down  to 
the  basements  all  through  the  summer  season  at 
Boulogne. 

It  was  not  Mme.  White's  fault  that  Pension 
Ducr£  was  mostly  recruited  from  elderly  spinsters  and 
abnormally  dull  families,  and  she  could  no  more 
be  made  responsible  for  the  characteristics  of  her 
"  gentlemen  guests  "  than  for  the  cook's  unexpected 
moods  or  the  chambermaid's  absent-mindednesses. 
Those  things  were  as  inevitable  a  part  of  a  pension 
as  were  the  odours  of  dinners  that  lurked  about  the 
salle  a  manger.  Certainly  there  was  the  Princess 
— nee  Golsky — and  her  beautiful  young  daughter, 
Theodora.  They  counted  for  a  good  deal.  As 
Mme.  White  said  whenever  she  got  a  chance,  "  The 
Princess  has  known  better  days ! " 

Poor  Princess!  If  it  was  true  she  had  known 
better  days,  she  had  also  known  better  meals  !  To-day 
the  lunch  was  specially  bad.  The  grilled  mackerel 
was  red  on  the  bones.  The  "  haricots  verts "  were 


2  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

unsalted  and  under-cooked.  The  potatoes  would  not 
go  round. 

"  Is  rhubarb  a  fruit  or  a  vegetable  ? "  demanded  a 
spinster,  whose  long  neck  was  adorned  with  beads 
and  exotic  shells. 

The  very  ancient  gentleman  at  one  end  of  the 
table  looked  at  her  anxiously,  then  turned  to  his 
wife,  the  lady  with  the  lace-curtain  frock. 

"  What  does  she  say,  dear  ?  She  always  talks  in 
a  whisper." 

"She  is  wondering  if  rhubarb  is  a  fruit  or  a 
vegetable,"  shouted  his  wife  in  an  ear-trumpet. 

"Oh,  I  see,  I  see."  He  paused  a  second.  Every- 
body listened  politely.  "  Why  !  it  is  a  fruit,  of  course, 
as  we  eat  it  as  a  sweet,"  said  he,  as  if  that  were  an 
irrefutable  proof. 

Three  ladies  seemed  disappointed,  and  ready  to 
argue.  But  he  was  too  deaf. 

There  were  only  two  men  at  Pension  Ducre,  the 
deaf  colonel  and  Mr.  Lee  Gage,  an  Army  tutor — now 
out  of  work — who  sat  next  to  the  Princess's  beautiful 
daughter  at  meals  and  tried  to  make  himself  pleasant 
to  her.  He  was  bald,  made  bad  puns  and  what 
Theodora  described  as  "colonel  noises,"  coughing 
intermittently  in  a  stentorian  fashion,  as  though  he 
were  a  retired  Anglo-Indian. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  table  the  other  ladies  had 
exhausted  an  interesting  theme  offered  to  them  by 
the  shrieking-voiced  spinster.  They  had  no  more  to 
say  on  the  subject.  They  had  talked  about  it  a  good 
deal  without  coming  to  any  understanding. 

Neither  the  Princess  nor  Theodora  followed  that 
placid  flock  into  the  drawing-room.  The  former 
went  straight  to  her  room,  the  terrible  little  five- 
franc  room,  with  the  furniture  that  creaked  if  you 
looked  at  it,  the  deal  washstand  with  the  basin  that 
always  seemed  to  her  like  a  bitter  joke,  it  was  so 
small  and  chipped,  the  everlasting  French  prints  on 
the  wall  representative  of  Victor  Hugo's  funeral,  the 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  3 

Eiffel  Tower,  Rouget  de  1'Isle  singing  the  Marseillaise. 
There  she  would  smoke  her  after-lunch  Russian 
cigarette,  her  only  real  pleasure  in  the  day. 

Theodora  disappeared  down  the  steps  and  out  of 
the  garden  gate. 

It  was  now  half-past  one.  Boulogne  lay  fast 
asleep  in  the  drowsy  stillness  of  the  summer  midday, 
and  the  great  blue,  lazy  fields  of  the  sea,  glittering 
and  smooth  as  glass,  were  stretched  out  northwards 
in  a  dreamless,  waveless  slumber. 

Through  the  fierce  glare  of  the  July  sunlight 
Theodora  dashed  along  like  one  in  a  dream.  She 
was  deaf  to  the  low  thunder  of  the  tramway-cars  that 
rolled  past  her  down  the  hilly  street  as  she  made  her 
way  upwards  through  the  sleeping  French  township 
towards  the  Ramparts.  She  was  unconscious  of  the 
heat. 

With  the  terrible  concentration  of  youth  her  whole 
being  was  possessed  at  that  moment  with  just  one 
idea.  Nothing  else  existed  in  the  world  for  her  but 
the  fact  that  she  had  decided  to  marry  Sir  George, 
and  was  now  on  her  way  to  tell  him  so. 

Right  in  the  middle  of  to-day's  lunch  she  had 
leapt,  with  a  wildfire  impulse  of  the  brain,  to  this 
decision.  For  weeks  she  had  been  turning  the  matter 
over  and  over  in  her  mind.  Sir  George  had  millions. 
He  belonged  to  a  good  family.  He  was  nice  looking. 
He  was  eminently  respectable,  yet  highly  respected. 
He  was  madly  in  love  with  her.  Her  mother  liked 
him.  To  marry  him  would  instantly  change  their 
existence  in  sordid  pensions  at  five  francs  a  day  to 
a  glittering  life,  where  every  luxury  imaginable  would 
be  lavished  upon  mother  and  daughter  alike,  for  Sir 
George  had  promised  that  Theodora  should  never  be 
separated  from  the  Princess  except  by  her  own  wish. 
But  against  all  those  prepossessing  "  fors  "  were  too 
formidable  "againsts."  And  one  was  that  she  did 
not  love  Sir  George  in  the  very  least. 

For  three  months  she  had  hesitated,  vacillated, 


4  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

veered,  and  kept  the  infatuated  Sir  George — and  the 
Princess  too — in  a  state  of  most  painful  suspense. 

And  then  to-day,  quite  suddenly,  she  had  looked 
round  the  table  of  Pension  Ducr6,  and  an  awful  panic 
had  seized  her.  Suppose  it  should  be  her  destiny, 
and  poor,  dear  mamma's  also,  never  to  escape  from 
scenes  like  these,  but  to  pass  all  the  rest  of  their  lives 
among  these  dreadful  people  ?  Suppose  that  day  after 
day,  month  after  month,  year  after  year,  they  were  to 
go  on  living  in  cheap  Continental  pensions  on  their 
pitiful  little  income  of^  180  a  year — until  poor  mamma 
grew  into  a  deplorable-looking  person  in  remnants, 
and  she,  Theodora,  was  an  old  maid  like  the  one  at 
the  table,  with  a  shell  necklace  and  a  shrieking  voice  ? 

Suppose  their  lives  were  to  be  henceforth  and  for 
ever  made  up  of  dirty  tablecloths,  scarcities  of  towels, 
difficulties  about  baths,  afternoon  tea  made  over  a 
spirit-lamp  in  a  back  bedroom,  and  the  sort  of  con- 
versation they  had  listened  to  to-day  ? 

Suppose  the  one  way  of  escape  was  suddenly 
closed  ?  Suppose  Sir  George  changed  his  mind,  and 
no  longer  wanted  to  marry  her  and  shower  luxuries 
on  her  ?  At  that  point  lunch  had  come  to  an  end, 
and,  seizing  her  parasol  from  the  hall-stand,  she  had 
escaped  from  the  house  like  one  possessed. 

'  Theodora !  "  a  voice  exclaimed  suddenly. 

'  Oh  !  Sir  George." 

'  Is  it  you  ? " 

'  Is  it  you  ?  " 

'  Where  are  you  going  ? " 

1  To  the  Ramparts." 

'  To  meet  me  ? " 

'  Yes — of  course." 

'  I  wasn't  sure,  you  know.  I  asked  you  to  come, 
but  you  never  replied." 

"  I  know.     But — but  I  was  coming." 

They  stood  facing  each  other  in  the  middle  of  the 
Rue  Melherbe. 

"  I "  began  Theodora,  impulsively. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  5 

She  looked  down,  then  up,  then  down  again. 

"  Yes  ? "  said  Sir  George,  eagerly. 
«  j » 

"You  what?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know." 

"  Tell  me." 

"No,  I  can't.     It's  nothing." 

She  whisked  round  suddenly  and  moved  on  to- 
wards the  Ramparts,  and  Sir  George  fell  into  step 
at  her  side.  She  had  begun  to  blush.  It  was  in- 
tolerable. But  he,  infatuated  as  only  a  man  of  forty 
can  be  over  the  mystery  of  a  girl  of  nineteen,  would 
have  liked  nothing  better  than  to  stand  still  for  ever 
and  watch  that  tide  of  palest  pink  rising  in  her  lovely 
face. 

"  My  cheeks  feel  quite  red,  it  is  so  hot." 

"  You  have  hurried." 

"  I  thought  I  was  late." 

A  clock  struck  a  quarter  to  two.  She  was  early 
by  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  The  pink  deepened. 

"  This  is  the  hottest  time  of  the  day." 

She  swung  the  scarlet  parasol  down  between  them 
to  hide  her  face. 

"  Yes,  it's  intolerable  of  me  to  name  such  an  hour. 
But  I  can't  talk  to  you  alone  at  your  pension.  And 
— and — I'm  leaving  this  afternoon." 

"  Leaving ! " 

She  started.  She  stood  dead  still  for  a  moment. 
Everything  went  slipping  away  from  her.  And  so 
her  strange  intuition  was  right  after  all !  He  had 
come  to  tell  her  he  was  leaving.  That  sharp  and 
horrible  vision  of  the  lunch-table  had  had  its  root  in 
deadly  actuality.  He  had  changed  his  mind. 

"  Yes  ?  You  are  going  to  Paris  ?  "  She  was 
moving  on  now.  "  Excuse  me — my  foot  hurt — or  to 
London  ? " 

"Paris,"  said  Sir  George.  "What's  the  matter 
with  the  foot  ?  " 

"  A  tight  shoe." 


6  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

She  laughed  gaily.  Her  eyes  sparkled.  Her 
cheeks  were  exquisitely  tinted. 

In  the  same  tone  she  added,  "  So  you  have  come 
to  say  good-bye  ?  " 

She  was  quite  mistress  of  herself  now.  It  was 
not  for  nothing  that  she  was  the  daughter  of  Irma 
Golsky.  But  behind — just  behind — those  smiling 
eyes  of  heavenly  violet  was  the  blackest  abyss  a  young 
soul  ever  looked  into.  Twice — not  once  in  her  brief 
lifetime,  but  twice — men  had  told  her  they  loved  her 
above  everything  in  the  world,'  and  then  had  come 
like  this  to  bid  her  good-bye,  and  put  her  out  of  their 
lives.  She  was  nineteen,  and  it  had  happened 
twice ! 

The  terror  of  it  was  so  great  that  she  dared  not 
stop  smiling  for  one  little  moment.  Still  less  dared 
she  think,  or  the  indignity  would  send  her  hot  Slav 
blood  to  her  brain  and  change  her  into  the  wild 
elemental^creature  that  she  knew  herself  to  be  under 
all  her  airs  of  high-breeding  and  repose. 

"  But  Paris  will  be  dull  now,  riest-ce  pas  ?  "  she 
said  lightly.  "  August  is  no  kinder  to  Paris  than  to 
London." 

"  I  don't  care.  I  have  some  big  things  to  see 
about — airships  and  things." 

And  then  once  again  during  that  walk  to  the 
Ramparts  she  stopped  suddenly  and  stood  dead  still. 
But  this  time  she  was  quite  off  guard.  Her  eyes 
looked  into  Sir  George's.  He  was  astounded.  They 
were  full  of  a  strange,  almost  terrified  surprise.  Some- 
thing had  wrecked  her  courage  and  torn  off  the  mask. 

"Airships!" 

He  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  what  is  it,  Theodora  ?  Are 
you  fainting  ? " 

"  No,  no.     It's  nothing." 

"  Lean  against  me." 

"  It's  only  the  heat." 

He  put  his  arm  round  her  to  steady  her. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  7 

She  tried  to  draw  herself  away."  But  he  held  her 
firmly.  She  could  not  help  herself.  She  was  obliged 
to  stay  there  a  minute  within  the  circle  of  that  strong 
arm.  Her  head  was  against  his  shoulder. 

"  What  do  you  know  of  airships  ? "  asked  Sir 
George. 

He  put  the  question  without  the  slightest  inten- 
tion of  doing  so.  He  had  no  idea  why  he  should 
ask  that.  He  was  utterly  unconscious  that  he  was 
being  carried  straight  on  to  the  word  by  a  telepathic 
wave  beating  from  Theodora's  brain  to  his  own. 

"  Nothing.     Cest  drole,  riest-ce pas  ?"  she  replied. 

She  drew  herself  forcibly  away  and  leaned  against 
the  old  brown  wall,  and  now  outside  the  hold  of  those 
arms  she  realised  that  a  strange  feeling  of  being 
immensely  protected  had  passed  away  from  her. 
Even  in  dear  mamma's  arms  she  had  never  experienced 
that  sense  of  absolute  safety,  for  was  not  poor  dear 
mamma's  heart  always  distracted  with  bills  and  money 
worries  ?  And  those  other  arms — they  had  thrilled 
her.  But  they  had  never  protected  her.  Instead 
they  had  always  filled  her  with  the  wildest  unrest. 

What  was  happening  to  her  throat  ?  And  her 
head  ?  Both  seemed  about  to  burst.  She  dug  her 
nails  into  her  little  soft,  pink  palms  till  the  blood 
came.  But  in  vain.  The  scene  just  passed  had 
mastered  her.  She  heard  her  breath  catch  suddenly 
in  a  strange  wild  sound  that  filled  her  with  shame. 
Then  a  sob  burst  forth — a  loud,  fierce  sob  such  as  a 
terrified  child  might  give.  She  dropped  her  head  on 
her  arms  and  leaned  low  on  the  wall. 

Sir  George  was  distracted. 

"  Theodora,  Theodora  !  What  is  it  ?  Listen, 
listen.  George  loves  you.  Can't  you  trust  him  ? 
There's  something  the  matter.  Can't  you  tell  me 
what  it  is  ?  You're  scaring  the  very  life  out  of  me, 
Theodora,  by  crying  like  that." 

No  answer.     Nothing  but  choked  sobs. 

"  I  simply  can't  go,  dearest,  while  you  cry  and  are 


8  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

in  trouble.  Oh,  if  you  were  my  wife  and  I  could  take 
care  of  you  !  I  wish  to  Heaven  it  were  so." 

He  leaned  on  the  wall  and  bent  his  head  down 
till  he  brought  it  on  a  level  with  hers.  All  he  could 
see  of  her  were  those  wonderful  rippling  clouds  of 
rosy  gold-brown  hair  under  her  white  hat. 

"  Speak  to  me,"  he  pleaded. 

"Are  you  really  going  away?"  she  muttered  at 
last. 

Sir  George  started. 

"  Heaven  knows  I  don't  want  to,"  he  answered. 

What  could  she  mean  by  that  question  ? 

"I  am  only  going  so  that  you  shall  not  be 
bothered.  I  want  to  stay.  I  want  never  to  leave 
you." 

He  waited. 

"  Surely  you  know  that,  Theodora  ? " 

"  Is  it  true  ? "  came  from  under  the  hat. 

"True?" 

Was  he  dreaming?  Was  it  beautiful,  mocking, 
tormenting  Theodora  who  was  asking  in  a  stifled 
voice  if  it  was  true  that  he  wanted  to  stay  where  she 
was  ? 

"  Don't  you  know  it's  true  ?  Doesn't  every  one 
that  knows  me  know  it's  true  ?  Haven't  I  shown 
ridiculously  plainly  that  I'm  your  slave,  Theodora — 
an  old  fool  of  forty  enslaved  by  a  girl  of  nineteen  ? " 

Her  reply  seemed  to  him  the  most  extraordinary 
thing  he  had  heard  in  his  life. 

"I'm  crying  because  you  were  going  away,"  she 
said. 

The  sentries  paced  lazily  to  and  fro,  wondering 
what  these  foolish  English  were  doing  here  at  this 
hour  of  day. 

A  companionless  wasp  went  buzzing  and  humming 
mournfully  through  the  fragrant  air.  The  breath  of 
white  roses  came  to  them  more  and  more  poignantly 
from  the  gardens  below.  The  vast  panorama  of  city 
and  shining  sea  wore  the  look  of  profound  indifference 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  9 

that  nature  is  given  to  assuming  in  the  face  of  human 
emotions. 

"  You  care,  then,  if  I  go  ? "  asked  Sir  George  at 
last,  stumbling  about  among  the  strange  wild  things 
he  desired  to  give  voice  to,  and  choosing  this  com- 
monplace little  question  out  of  a  sheer  instinct  for 
self-preservation. 

No  reply  came.  Theodora  remained  in  that  same 
dejected,  childish  position,  but  the  sobbing  had 
ceased. 

"  Theodora,  listen."  He  put  his  hand  on  her  arm. 
"You  must  look  up,  you  must  let  me  see  your  face. 
You  must  tell  me " 

"What  shall  I  tell  you?" 

With  a  swift,  lithe  movement  she  raised  her  head, 
and  then  her  whole  tall,  slender  body,  and  sprang  to 
her  full  height  before  him. 

"  What  shall  I  tell  you  ? "  she  repeated. 

She  looked  up,  and  her  tear-stained  face  broke 
out  suddenly  into  a  dazzling  smile.  The  wonderful 
beauty  that  was  destined  to  make  her  famous  in  all 
Europe  heralded  itself.  The  radiant  sweetness  of  a 
child,  coquetry,  pride,  diablerie  and  a  haunting  sad- 
ness were  mixed  in  that  smile,  to  the  utter  undoing 
of  any  man  so  smiled  upon. 

Sir  George  instantly  lost  his  head. 

"  You  beauty ! "  he  breathed.  "  I  believe  I  would 
kill  any  man  who  took  you  from  me." 

"No  one  wants  to,"  she  murmured.  With  her 
head  on  his  breast  for  a  second  in  the  inevitable 
moment  that  followed  her  smile,  she  whispered  low, 
"  Take  care  of  me.  ...  I  will  marry  you  when  you 
like  .  .  .  that's  what  I  came  to-day  to  tell  you." 


CHAPTER   II 

As  Theodora  entered  the  pension  that  afternoon  the 
odour  of  methylated  spirits  and  the  dim,  dispirited 
clink  of  china  in  various  bedrooms  betrayed  the  fact 
that  the  guests  at  Pension  Ducre  were  preparing  their 
own  afternoon  teas.  She  paused  a  moment  in  the 
hall.  The  methylated  spirits  seemed  to  rise  at  her 
like  mournful  ghosts,  telling  sad  stories  of  faded 
pasts,  and  an  image  of  mamma  flashed  across  her — 
mamma  boiling  her  little  kettle  with  her  own  white 
hands  over  the  spirit-lamp  in  her  awful  bedroom  and 
meagrely  measuring  out  a  spoonful  of  tea,  and  care- 
fully looking  over  the  biscuits  to  see  if  there  would 
be  enough  for  to-morrow  too. 

"Thank  Heaven,  it's  all  over  now!"  she  said  to 
herself.  There  was  a  mirror  in  the  hall,  and  she 
caught  sight  of  her  face.  She  paused  a  moment  and 
looked  dreamily  at  herself,  taking  her  hat  off  as  she 
did  so. 

"  Am  I  really  beautiful  ?  If  so,  why  should  I  not 
have  love,  happiness  and  wealth  all  together  ?  Why 
not  ? " 

Her  spirits  rose  at  the  possibility.  Heavy  masses 
of  hair  of  the  warmest  red-gold  were  rippling  all 
round  the  classic  little  head  that  was  set  so  proudly 
on  a  long  white  neck.  The  great  purply  blue  eyes 
with  their  heavy  black  lashes  and  fine  black  eyebrows 
were  liquid  and  enticing  as  a  siren's.  Her  pure 
Greek  profile  was  cold  and  haughty ;  but  the  pecu- 
liarly expressive  mouth,  with  vivid  scarlet  lips,  con- 
tradicted that  coldness.  A  tall  and  slender  figure 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  11 

that  moved  with  the  lightness  and  grace  of  a  cloud 
before  a  gentle  wind,  little  hands  and  feet,  two  rows 
of  perfect  teeth,  and  a  voice  with  a  honey  sweetness 
in  its  tones — such  was  Theodora  at  nineteen,  as  she 
stood  there  carefully  inspecting  herself  in  the  mirror 
of  the  hat-stand  at  Pension  Ducre. 

"  There's  a  gentleman  in  the  drawing-room  waiting 
to  see  you." 

The  English  parlourmaid  had  suddenly  appeared 
in  the  hall. 

"Forme?" 

Theodora  stared  in  surprise. 

"  He  has  been  here  five  minutes.  He  said  he'd 
wait." 

Theodora  moved  towards  the  drawing-room. 

On  the  threshold,  a  premonition  of  something 
eventful  that  was  going  to  happen  on  the  other  side 
of  the  door  seized  her ;  she  put  her  hand  to  her  heart, 
the  colour  ebbed  from  her  face  ;  her  hands  trembled 
a  little,  then  she  turned  the  handle  of  the  door  and 
went  in. 

"Theodora!" 

Some  one  rose  from  a  sofa  across  the  room.  He 
was  young,  not  more  than  twenty-five,  with  black  hair 
and  a  pale  face,  and  a  pair  of  extraordinary  blazing 
eyes  of  mixed  green  and  yellow,  that  shot  forth 
rapier-like  glances  as  though  to  rip  open  to  the  very 
bottom  everything  he  looked  at.  And  the  thin  com- 
pressed lips  had  an  iron  firmness  that  was  all  too 
seldom  to  be  found  with  a  brainy  brow  like  his.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  light  fawn  tweed  suit,  and  his  big, 
foreign-looking  felt  hat  was  tossed  impatiently  on  the 
floor.  With  two  strides  he  had  reached  her  and 
caught  her  in  his  arms,  before  she  could  utter  a  word 
or  defend  herself  in  any  way. 

"  Theodora,  Theodora !  " 

"  You ! " 

"  It's  I — Marcel.     I've  come  to  you." 

"Marcel!" 


12  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

She  put  up  her  hands  and  pressed  him  wildly  back. 

"  Yes,  Marcel !  Don't  you  remember  him  ?  "  he 
said,  half  vexed,  half  laughing. 

His  dark,  powerful  face  was  bent  down  over  her 
fair  one  with  an  expression  of  eager  tenderness. 

"  You ! " 

"  I  have  frightened  you  ! " 

"  To-day !  " 

She  was  still  pressing  him  from  her. 

A  wild,  baffled  look  was  creeping  over  the  excited 
expression  of  her  eyes. 

"  Don't  push  me  away,"  he  said  sharply. 

"  I  must.  Let  me  go.  Why  have  you  come  ? 
You  said  farewell  to  me  a  year  ago.  You  remember, 
Marcel,  that  day  in  the  Pineto,  at  Viareggio.  Your 
decision  was  that  our  love  was  hopeless.  You  told 
me  you  were  too  poor  to  marry.  You  had  to  give 
yourself  body  and  soul  to  your  work  and  ambition. 
You  could  not  think  of  a  wife.  You  said  all  that, 
Marcel." 

He  laughed  joyously. 

"  I  know.  But  who  could  have  dreamed  of  what 
was  going  to  happen  ? " 

"  What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  I  was  poor,  struggling,  and  unknown  a  year  ago, 
and  I  knew  I  might  be  like  that  for  twenty  years — for 
ever,  perhaps.  And  to-day  I'm  rich,  and  successful, 
and  on  my  way  to  being  famous.  That's  what  has 
happened." 

She  gazed  at  him  in  a  paralysed  silence. 

"  It  was  all  luck,  the  most  extraordinary,  incon- 
ceivable luck  that  ever  fell  to  a  human  being.  A 
year  ago,  just  after  I  saw  you  last.  I  was  travelling 
in  a  train  from  Genoa  to  Paris,  and  at  Asti  there  was 
a  breakdown,  and  we  were  stuck  up  there  for  several 
hours.  While  I^was  standing  about  on  the  lines, 
examining  the  engine,  an  Englishman  strolled  up  and 
began  to  do  the  same  thing,  and  presently  we  ex- 
changed a  word  or  two,  and  mutually  cursed  at  the 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  13 

delay,  and  after  a  time  he  made  a  remark  to  me  that 
seemed  suddenly  to  open  up  a  whole  world  of  con- 
genial ideas  between  us.  He  said, '  I  believe  that  the 
only  way  we  are  intended  to  travel  over  long  distances 
is  through  the  air,  and  I  hope  it  will  come  in  my  day.' 
After  that  we  talked,  we  talked,  we  talked.  Then 
we  travelled  on  together  all  day  and  half  the  night  to 
Paris.  He  was  an  Englishman,  that  man,  and  very 
rich.  And  generous,  mon  Dieu  !  He  threw  himself 
heart  and  soul  into  my  ideas  which  I  confided  to  him 
with  absolute  trust,  for  I  saw  he  was  a  man  one  could 
believe  in  to  the  death.  I  showed  him  my  plans. 
Then  he  gave  me  money,  all  the  money  I  needed  and 
more,  much  more.  He  wanted  me  to  have  a  fair 
trial,  he  said/for  he  believed  in  me,  and  some  engineer 
friends  of  his  to  whom  he  introduced  me  expressed 
the  same  opinion.  Last  week  I  gave  a  private  trial 
near  Paris  of  my  aeroplane,  and  it  was  a  success, 
Theodora.  Experts  and  dilettanti  and  all  were 
amazed.  You  see,"  his  eyes  fairly  burned  with  that 
strange  white  fire  from  the  brain  behind,  "  I'd  got 
something  in  my  head  that  no  one  else  had.  All  I 
wanted  was  money,  financial  assistance.  And  now 
three  millionaires  have  made  a  syndicate  of  them- 
selves to  protect  and  develop  my  invention,  and  the 
French  Government  is  interested,  and  I'm  no  longer 
the  unknown  and  penniless  Marcel,  with  wild  schemes, 
whom  you  knew  at  Viareggio.  Do  you  mean  to  say 
you  haven't  read  of  me  in  the  papers  ? "  he  interrupted 
himself  naively. 

"No." 

Theodora's  voice  sounded  thin  and  birdlike  after 
the  rich  stream  of  all  that  electric  vitalised  speech. 

"  Theodora !  Whatever  have  you  done  to  your- 
self ? "  he  burst  forth.  "  Do  you  know  that  you're 
lovelier  than  ever  ?  You  are  more  beautiful  than  I 
dreamed  ;  you  are  a  great,  great  beauty,  Theodora, 
though  you  don't  know  it  yet.  Theo,  Theo,  be  nice 
to  me.  What's  the  matter  ?  " 


14  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

« I  can't !  " 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?    You  have  changed  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Don't  draw  away  from  me." 

"  Yes." 

"  Aren't  you  glad  ?  Don't  you  understand  that 
it's  all  come  right  ? " 

"  I  am  engaged  to  another  man,"  she  said  quietly. 

Next  moment,  finding  him  regarding  her  with  an 
expression  in  which  amazement  and  an  incapacity  to 
comprehend  were  swiftly  being  overswept  by  hot 
anger  and  an  undisguised  and  very  real  pain,  she 
cried  out,  as  if  to  excuse  herself,  "  It  only  happened 
to-day." 

But  as  she  spoke  a  vision  of  the  Ramparts  rose 
before  her.  She  saw  George's  steady  eyes.  She 
heard  his  kind,  quiet  voice,  stirred  with  pity,  saying, 
'•  George  loves  you.  Can't  you  trust  him  ? "  She 
remembered  how  he  had  looked  when  she  smiled  that 
time.  Somehow,  never  intending  to  in  the  least,  she 
had  caused  him  to  believe  that  she  really  cared  for 
him.  How  else,  when  he  thought  for  a  moment,  was 
he  to  interpret  all  those  little  things — the  way  she 
had  blushed  when  they  met,  the  way  she  had  stopped 
dead  when  he  told  her  he  was  going  away,  and 
manufactured  a  story  about  a  foot  hurting,  the  way 
she  had  given  that  awful  sob,  the  way  she  had  wept 
and  had  answered  him,  "  I  am  crying  because  you  are 
going  away,"  and  then,  finally,  the  way  she  lay  back 
in  his  arms  after  she  had  said  she  would  marry  him, 
just  to  taste  again  that  unique  and  wonderful  sense 
of  immense  protection  that  had  come  over  her  when 
he  had  held  her  a  few  minutes  before  ?  And  she  had 
promised  him  that  to-night  she  would  tell  mamma, 
and  to-morrow  morning  he  could  come. 

"  But  if  it  had  been  months  ago  it  would  make  no 
difference,"  she  ended  aloud,  with  sharp  defiance  in 
her  young  voice. 

He  had  watched  her  in  silence. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  15 

"  You  don't  love  him,"  he  now  said  scornfully. 
"  Yes,"  breathed  Theodora. 
"  You  must  break  it  off — at  once." 
"  Impossible.     I  cannot." 

Her  heart  was  pleading  feverishly  for  George. 
He  was  like  a  boy  of  twenty  to-day,  bubbling  over 
with  happiness.  He  believed  in  her.  Marcel  came 
close  to  her  again  and  stood  beside  her.  His  arm 
was  touching  her.  But  the  assurance  of  tenderness 
and  peace  that  George's  whole  personality  had  suc- 
ceeded in  instilling  into  her  to-day  defied  the  emotions 
that  Marcell's  presence  was  arousing. 

"  I  will  not  break  it  off,"  she  repeated  firmly. 
"  You  must.     It's  I  for  whom  you  care  ;  you  know 
you  do,"  he  said  excitedly.     He  seized  her  hands. 
She  shivered,  but  her  resolve  remained  firm. 
"  Who  is  he  ?    Tell  me  his  name." 
"  Sir  George  Allingham." 

She  said  it  timidly,  as  if  the  very  utterance  of  the 
name  might  introduce  Sir  George  himself  into  the 
midst  of  this  drama  being  played  out  between  Marcel 
and  herself  in  the  red-velvet  drawing-room  of  Pension 
Ducre,  with  the  dim  chink  of  china  far  away  in  the 
distance,  and  the  faint  odours  of  methylated  spirits 
in  the  air. 

"  Sir  George  Allingham." 

Her  hands  were  dropped  as  though  they  had  been 
burning  coals.  Marcel  had  jumped  back  and  was 
looking  at  her  with  the  most  extraordinary  expression 
in  his  eyes.  Then,  before  she  had  time  to  form  any 
opinion  whatever  about  his  thought,  he  said  quietly — 
"Of  course,  that  is  an  admirable  match.  I  have 
heard  of  him.  He  is  a  man  any  girl  might  be  proud 
to  marry." 

He  turned  round  and  looked  about  for  his  hat. 
His  sallow  face  was  almost  livid  in  its  pallor.  By 
his  quick  breathing  Theodora  knew  he  was  deeply 
disturbed.  She  watched  him  stoop  and  pick  up  his 
hat.  "George,  George,"  she  kept  saying  to  herself. 


16  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

But  in  vain.  The  words  suddenly  changed  to 
"Marcel,"  and  when  she  realised  he  was  about  to 
take  his  leave  she  rushed  to  him,  drooped  against 
his  arm,  and  whispered  :  "  Oh,  it's  too  hard  ;  I  can't 
marry  him — it's  you  I  care  for,  always  you." 

"Don't,  Theodora." 

It  was  his  turn  now  to  push  her  away. 

" But  I  can't"  she  repeated  wildly. 

"  You  must.     You  will,"  he  answered  stubbornly. 

Some  profound  change  had  taken  place  in  him. 

"And  I  must  go,"  he  added. 

"  Go !     Do  you  mean  for  ever  ?  " 

"Yes." 

He  took  her  hand  in  his  to  say  good-bye,  but  he 
was  smitten  with  her  nearness,  her  exquisite  eyes, 
her  bewildering,  cold,  Greek  profile,  combined  with 
the  tremble  on  the  scarlet  lips,  the  grace  of  her  bend- 
ing head,  with  its  clouds  of  red-gold  hair,  and  he 
said,  as  if  beside  himself — 

"  I  will  go  now,  but  I  will  come  back.  There  is 
something  I  must  decide,  and  I  cannot  decide  while 
I  am  here.  And  to-morrow  I  will  come  and  tell  you 
what  my  decision  is.  I  am  at  the  Hotel  de  1'Univers." 

"  But  what  does  it  all  mean  ?  What  decision  ? 
What  is  it  you  are  talking  about  ?  Do  you  mean, 
you — you  don't  love  me  ? " 

"Yes,  I  love  you,  Theodora.  It  isn't  that.  But, 
of  course,  I  didn't  know  you  were  engaged  when  I 
came.  I  must  decide  now  whether  I  can  do  such  a 
thing  as  let  you  break  your  promise  to  another  man. 
To-morrow,  then,"  and  he  was  gone,  with  an  air  of 
tearing  himself  away  while  he  was  able. 

In  a  dream  Theodora  wrote  a  note  to  Sir  George. 
In  a  dream  she  told  him  she  was  not  ill,  only  tired. 
She  could  not  talk  it  over  with  mamma  to-day. 
Would  he  be  so  very,  very  kind  as  not  to  come  and 
see  her  till  the  day  after  to-morrow  ? 


CHAPTER   III 

THAT  night  she  slept  not  at  all.  Her  brain  was  on 
fire.  She  tossed  from  side  to  side,  tormented  by  her 
thoughts,  which,  it  must  be  confessed,  touched  very 
little  upon  Sir  George. 

At  what  hour  would  Marcel  come  ?  What  would 
he  say  ? 

She  confined  herself  to  these  questions,  going 
over  them  a  hundred  times  and  the  mystery  that 
lay  behind  them,  and  every  time  she  found  a  different 
answer.  About  half-past  six,  feeling  the  uselessness 
of  staying  in  bed,  she  got  up  and  began  to  dress. 
Just  as  she  had  finished  Josephine,  the  little  French 
chambermaid,  came  in  with  her  cafe-au-lait. 

"  Tiens !  Mademoiselle  is  already  up.  She  is 
early  this  morning.  Has  mademoiselle  slept  well  ? 
Ah,  but  her  eyes  are  a  little  tired." 

"  Quite  well,  thank  you,  Josephine,  but  the  morning 
is  too  fine  to  stay  indoors." 

•  She  would  like  to  have  gone  out  at  once,  and  let 
the  sun  console  her,  away  from  the  hated  surroundings 
of  Pension  Ducre,  but  she  dared  not  leave  the  house 
for  a  minute. 

Lunch-time  came.  No  messenger  had  yet  arrived 
to  announce,  "  A  gentleman  in  the  drawing-room  for 
you."  Everybody  was  already  at  table  when  she 
entered  the  room.  She  had  to  sit  next  to  the  old 
colonel,  who  was  feeling  particularly  cheerful  that  day. 

Being  fully  convinced  that  England  "was  going 
to  the  dogs,"  he  took  a  genial  satisfaction  in  pointing 
out  the  symptoms  which  in  his  opinion  indicated  the 
imminence  of  that  ambiguous  catastrophe. 

17  C 


iS  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

Poor  Theodora  had  to  endure  this  as  best  she 
could.  It  was  torture.  She  felt  that  everybody  was 
looking  at  her.  As  soon  as  possible  she  murmured 
some  excuse  and  left  the  room.  Up  in  her  bedroom 
she  paced  up  and  down,  bitterly  reproaching  herself 
for  her  lack  of  self-control.  She  must  learn  to  face 
trouble  like  other  people.  But  it  was  little  use 
arguing  with  herself  to-day.  ,She  was  completely 
unstrung.  She  flung  herself  on  the  bed  and  lay 
there  motionless  for  more  than  an  hour,  going  over 
and  over  again  the  same  thought  :  "  What  time  will 
he  come  ? " 

At  last,  without  any  reason,  she  made  up  her 
mind  that  he  would  come  about  half-past  three. 
Two  hours  of  waiting.  She  bethought  herself  of 
the  piano  in  the  drawing-room,  and  went  downstairs. 

She  understood  and  loved  the  tender,  mournful 
music  of  her  great  compatriot  Chopin  above  all  other 
music.  She  found  in  it  all  the  romantic  melancholy 
of  her  native  temperament.  To  hear  it  hammered 
out  by  some  English  or  German  Philistine  in  a 
drawing-room  would  set  her  teeth  on  edge.  Yet 
this  afternoon  she  played  the  B  flat  Minor  Sonata 
as  badly  as  any  one,  and  she  knew  it.  She  could 
not  concentrate  her  mind  on  the  music,  so  it  passed 
her  by,  leaving  her  dissatisfied  and  uncomforted. 

And  so  the  afternoon  dragged  wearily  on.  Half- 
past  three.  A  quarter  to  four.  Still  no  sign  of 
Marcel. 

At  four  o'clock  her  mother  came  in. 

"  I  had  lunch  with  our  solicitor,  Mr.  Fisher,"  she 
said,  throwing  herself  wearily  into  an  armchair.  "  He 
is  here  for  a  few  days,  you  know." 

Her  voice  trembled  a  little. 

"  Yes,  mamma.    Was  he  nice  ?  " 

"He  gives  me  very  disquieting  news  about  our 
investments.  I  don't  know  how  we  shall  ever  get 
through  this  year." 

"Really!" 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  19 

Theodora  remained  quite  unmoved.  Money 
troubles  were  absolutely  insignificant  just  then.  She 
was  sorry,  though,  for  her  mother,  and  promised  to 
make  tea. 

Directly  tea  was  finished  she  returned  to  her 
room.  What  could  she  do  now  ?  To  play  the  piano 
again  would  remind  her  of  the  dreadful  afternoon 
she  had  just  passed.  To  read  was  even  more  im- 
possible. She  sat  miserably  by  the  window  and 
thought  of  all  the  reasons,  possible  or  impossible, 
that  might  have  prevented  Marcel  from  coming. 
And  so  the  day  went  by. 

Dinner-time  !  Yet  he  might  still  come.  She 
was  dizzy  with  anxiety  and  lack  of  sleep.  She  told 
her  mother  that  she  had  a  bad  headache  and  could 
not  eat  any  dinner.  The  Princess  kissed  her  and 
asked  no  questions.  To  herself  she  said,  "She  is 
making  up  her  mind  about  George."  Once  more 
Theodora  was  left  sitting  alone  by  the  window. 

Suddenly  she  felt  she  could  bear  it  no  longer. 
Something  must  be  done.  If  Marcel  Fleur  would 
not  come  to  her,  she  would  go  to  Marcel  Fleur.  She 
jumped  up  excitedly  and  began  to  put  on  her  hat. 
Her  eyes  gleamed  and  her  cheeks  burned  as  she 
slipped  quietly  down  the  stairs.  If  only  Josephine 
did  not  come  out  at  the  critical  moment ! 

She  stepped  into  the  street  and  closed  the  door 
quietly  behind  her. 


CHAPTER   IV 

IT  was  growing  dark,  and  the  lamps  were  being  lit, 
as  she  entered  the  hall  of  Hotel  de  1'Univers.  The 
hall-porter,  with  that  mixture  of  obsequiousness  and 
superciliousness  beloved  of  his  tribe,  strolled  forward 
to  proffer  his  valuable  services. 

"  Could  you  tell  me,  please,  if  M.  Fleur  is  in  the 
hotel?" 

"I  do  not  know,  mademoiselle.  He  is  leaving 
to-night.  But  I  have  not  seen  him  go  out.  If 
mademoiselle  will  wait  one  little  moment  I  will  send 
to  inquire." 

"No,  I  will  go  myself — the  number  of  his  room, 
please  ? " 

"Ah,  very  well.  Will  madame  kindly  step  into 
the  lift  ?  Jean,  show  the  lady  to  No.  41." 

The  lift  stopped  at  the  third  floor,  and  Jean, 
proud  of  the  beauty  of  his  charge,  offered  eagerly 
to  conduct  her  to  the  door,  which  was  right  at  the 
end  of  the  passage,  but  Theodora  energetically  de- 
clined his  proffered  services.  She  felt  dazed  and 
half-petrified  with  excitement.  She  must  be  alone. 
The  door  of  No.  41  stood  slightly  ajar.  She  knocked 
— lightly  at  first,  then  harder,  but  there  was  no 
answer.  She  could  hear  her  heart  throb  as  she  stood 
there,  listening  intently. 

"  Perhaps  he  is  asleep  or  absorbed  in  his  work." 

But  that  mistrust  of  her  reason  and  confidence 
in  her  senses,  which  is  innate  in  every  human  being, 
impelled  her  to  open  the  door.  She  must  see  with 
her  own  eyes.  Otherwise  she  could  not  believe  in 
her  failure  to  find  him. 

20 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  21 

Almost  unconsciously  she  entered  the  room.  One 
glance  told  her  it  was  empty.  Some  clothes  and  a 
few  books  were  heaped  up  on  the  bed,  ready  for 
packing.  A  half-packed  portmanteau  stood  open  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor.  He  was  going  away  then, 
going  without  even  saying  good-bye.  She  suffered 
the  pain  of  it  unconsciously,  as  a  person  numbed  by 
an  anaesthetic.  For  a  few  moments  she  stood  there 
just  inside  the  door,  a  sad  little  smile  on  her  face, 
almost  happy  because  she  was  among  his  things. 
Then  she  forced  herself  to  wake  up  and  realise  that 
she  must  go. 

A  lady  emerged  from  the  next  room  just  as 
Theodora  closed  the  door  of  No.  41  behind  her.  She 
went  on  down  the  passage,  and  a  cynical  smile 
played  around  her  handsome  lips.  She  purposely 
delayed  ringing  up  the  liftman,  so  that  they  two 
might  be  taken  down  together,  and  in  the  brilliant 
light  of  the  lift  she  was  able  to  examine  her  beautiful 
companion  critically.  Theodora's  violet  eyes  were 
lustrous  now  with  sleeplessness  and  excitement, 
and  her  cheeks  were  flushed.  The  lady  gazed  at 
her  in  evident  admiration  ;  but  Theodora  turned  her 
head  away.  She  was  angry  at  the  notice  taken  of 
her  at  that  moment,  when  all  that  she  wanted  was 
oblivion. 

"  Did  you  see  the  gentleman  ? "  asked  the  hall- 
porter,  who  was  out  on  the  steps  speeding  off  a 
passenger.  "  He  was  in  the  office  just  now  paying 
his  bill." 

But  Theodora  fled  past  him,  thinking  only  of  the 
comfort  of  the  darkness.  She  reached  home  safely, 
and  slipped  in  unnoticed.  They  were  at  dessert 
now.  Nobody  knew  she  had  been  out. 

But  just  as  she  had  thrown  herself  at  full  length 
on  the  bed,  confronted  with  the  terror  of  the  night 
before  her,  Josephine  entered  with  a  letter. 

"  Theodora,  I  am  going  away.  I  am  not  coming 
to  say  good-bye  even,  just  going  straight  away  from 


22  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

you,  I  suppose,  for  ever.  Theodora,  don't  hate  me. 
Don't  say  all  kinds  of  horrible  things  about  me  to 
yourself.  I  don't  want  to  go,  but  it  is  that  I  must  go, 
Theodora,  because  if  I  stayed  I  should  come  and  see 
you,  and  if  I  saw  you  I  could  not  go,  I  could  not  give 
you  up,  I  should  carry  you  away  and  marry  you,  and 
then  I  should  never  be  really  happy,  at  any  rate  not 
for  a  long  time — not  for  years,  very  likely.  Theodora, 
forget  me.  Listen,  Theodora.  You  will  marry  Sir 
George,  and  he  will  worship  you,  and  of  course  you 
will  be  far,  far  happier  than  if  you  had  married  a  mad 
vagabond  person  like  me,  whose  very  profession  itself 
is  in  the  clouds,  or  near  them,  and  who  would  be  an 
uncomfortable,  selfish,  impossible  husband  for  a 
beautiful  woman  who  is  half  a  child  still,  and  needs 
to  be  looked  after  a  good  deal  and  taken  care  of. 
Theodora,  you  will  be  happy.  You  will  make  Sir 
George  happy.  I  am  going.  I  will  pass  away,  and 
you'll  forget  me.  You'll  forget  everything.  It  was 
inevitable,  I  suppose,  that  we  should  have  fallen  in 
love  with  each  other  away  over  there,  in  that  strange 
winter  when  you  and  I  were  the  only  young  things, 
and  saw  each  other  every  day  on  the  sands  or  in  the 
Pineto,  where  the  mountains  used  to  show  themselves 
in  blue  and  purple  patches  through  the  pines.  Theo- 
dora, that  was  when  I  kissed  you.  But  even  that  I 
am  going  to  forget ;  I  am  going  to  look  on  you  now 
as  the  wife  of  another  man,  and  Viareggio  shall  be  a 
page  that  is  more  than  turned  down — it  is  torn  out 
altogether  and  destroyed.  Theodora,  good-bye.  Be 
happy,  and  make  him  happy.  I've  got  my  work — I 
shall  be  all  right.  You  didn't  know  that  I  was 
coming.  You  couldn't  help  engaging  yourself  to 
him.  Don't  think  for  a  moment,  Theodora,  that  I 
blame  you.  When  you  get  this  I  shall  be  gone.— 
MARCEL." 

Holding  the  letter  in  her  hand,  she  went  on 
reading  it  with  a  dual  sensation  in  her  brain.  The 
handwriting  was  his.  And,  just  because  it  was  his 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  23 

and  she  had  not  seen  it  for  so  long,  it  overwhelmed 
her  with  a  sharp  delight  to  have  it  there  in  her  own 
hand  like  that.  But  mixed  with  that  emotion  was 
the  anger  and  the  anguish  that  the  things  he  was 
saying  gave  her. 

The  egoism  of  it  passed  her  by.  She  was  nineteen, 
and,  of  course,  she  was  an  immense  egoist  herself, 
and  so  she  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  what  egoism 
was.  Her  own  left  her  no  time  to  think  of  any  one 
else's.  She  saw  nothing  egoistic  even  in  such  phrases 
as,  "And  then  I  should  never  be  really  happy,  at 
any  rate  not  for  a  long  time,"  or  "  It  was  inevitable 
that  we  should  have  fallen  in  love  with  each  other," 
or  "  That  was  when  I  kissed  you,  but  even  that  I'm 
going  to  forget,"  or  even  "  I've  got  my  work,  I  shall 
be  all  right,"  and  "Don't  think  for  a  moment  that  I 
blame  you ! " 

All  she  saw  was  the  one  supreme  fact :  Marcel  was 
gone.  He  had  given  her  up  to  another  without  an 
effort  to  keep  her. 

He  had  given  her  up,  though  she  had  declared 
her  willingness  to  break  off  her  engagement  with  Sir 
George  and  make  herself  free  for  him. 

He  had  given  her  up,  though  she  had  offered — 
even  pleaded — to  let  everything  go. 

He  had  given  her  up,  though  she  had  cried  to  him 
that  it  was  he  whom  she  loved,  though  she  had 
dropped  into  his  arms  and  suffered  that  moment  of 
unutterable  shame  when  she  had  deliberately  gone 
against  Sir  George  and  her  sense  of  honour. 

She  stood,  tall  and  white,  in  the  middle  of  her 
bedroom,  with  the  letter  in  her  hands.  All  was  over. 
There  was  nothing  left.  He  was  really  gone,  and  as 
long  as  she  lived  she  would  see  him  no  more. 

One  pale  candle  near  her  made  a  little  golden 
point  of  light  in  the  dimness  and  shadow  of  her  room. 
All  outside  the  little  golden  circlet  was  shadow, 
vagueness  ;  and  further  back  was  utter  darkness  ;  and 
standing  about  in  that  darkness  were  her  bed,  her 


24  THEODORA'S  HUSBAND 

armchair,  her  washstand,  her  wardrobe,  all  hypnotised 
into  a  state  of  weird  stillness  that  was  almost  deathly 
in  its  immovability  and  silence. 

She  felt  her  mind  reeling,  and  she  tried  to  focus 
it  upon  those  homely  objects  that  would  preserve  her 
balance  by  their  very  homeliness  and  simplicity. 

She  sighed. 

"  Oh ! — dreadful — terrible  ! "  she  heard  her  voice 
whisper  strangely. 

The  sound  of  it  aroused  her,  and  a  passionate 
longing  to  be  avenged  on  this  man  who  had  made 
her  suffer  so  drowned  every  other  emotion.  She  was 
almost  overwhelmed,  and  the  Slav  in  her  was  con- 
fronted with  a  red,  misty  vision  of  a  knife. 

She  left  the  room  rapidly,  and  went  across  the 
passage  with  its  bare  white  boards  to  her  mother's 
bedroom. 

"Mamma!" 

Her  voice  was  wild  and  broken. 

But  there  was  no  answer,  and  looking  round  she 
found  that  the  room  was  empty. 

As  she  came  out  later  into  the  narrow  corridor 
again  she  heard  her  mother's  voice  coming  from 
somewhere  further  along  the  passage,  in  one  of  the 
rooms  where  a  gleam  of  candle-light  shone  from  an 
open  door. 

That  was  the  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Keery-Crawford's 
room,  and  Mrs.  Keery-Crawford's  voice  came  floating 
across  to  Theodora  also. 

"  And  this  is  a  photograph  of  the  Colonel  at  the 
head  of  his  regiment,"  she  was  saying. 

Her  voice  was  loud  and  penetrating,  made  so  by 
long  and  constant  practice  with  the  Colonel. 

"  This  is  his  sword  ! "  she  went  on. 

"  What  a  beautiful  sword  ! "  The  Princess's  soft, 
clear  voice  had  a  note  of  divine  sympathy  and 
admiration. 

The  listener  in  the  passage  trembled. 

Her  heart  was  weighted  down  beyond  all  endurance 


THEODORA'S  HUSBAND  25 

with  her  own  misery,  but  yet  some  chord  within 
her  seemed  to  vibrate  and  thrill  and  fill  her  with  a 
different  kind  of  pain  as  that  little  conversation  came 
floating  out  to  her. 

The  Colonel  at  the  head  of  a  regiment !  That 
deaf,  tedious  old  bore,  in  carpet  slippers  with  cats' 
heads  on  them,  who  rilled  her  always  with  such  im- 
patience, leading  his  men  into  action !  The  Colonel 
with  a  sword  !  Was  it  possible  he  had  been  some  one 
in  his  day  ?  Had  he  veritably  lived  and  fought  and 
been  out  in  the  very  thick  of  life's  fray,  this  old  man 
whose  sword  hung  now  in  the  bedroom  of  Pension 
Ducre,  at  five  francs  a  day,  with  a  whist-drive  every 
Thursday  ? 

"  I  said  the  old  Anglo-Indians  were  snobs,"  she 
said,  pitifully  to  herself,  with  a  lump  in  her  throat. 
"  Why  not  ?  Why  shouldn't  they  be  ?  What  else  is 
there  left  to  them  ?  What  is  there  left  to  any  one  ? " 

She  swayed  ;  she  was  faint.  She  gathered  herself 
together  and  crept  down  the  stairs. 

The  night  was  breathless  ;  she  must  have  air. 
The  front  door  stood  wide  open,  and  a  long  path  of 
blue  electric  light  shot  out  over  the  dusty  laurels  and 
little  lawn  in  the  black  garden  beyond.  Some  one 
was  coming  up  that  path  now.  He  stepped  into  the 
blue  light,  and  she  saw  as  in  a  dream  that  it  was  Sir 
George. 

"  You  ? " 

"  Yes,  I,  Theodora,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  was 
not  to  be  recognised  as  his.  "  I  couldn't  stand  it  any 
longer." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  so  glad." 

She  swayed  forward  and  almost  fell  into  his  arms. 

"If  you  hadn't  come  I  should  have  died,"  she 
cried. 

"  Why,  in  Heaven's  name,  did  you  send  me  away, 
then  ? " 

"  I  don't  know." 

The  utter  incoherence  of  it  was  stupefying.    Any 


26  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

man  must  have  been  mystified.  But  Sir  George 
made  his  own  interpretation, 

In  her  very  incoherence  and  inconsequence,  coupled 
with  the  helpless  way  she  was  clinging  to  him  now, 
he  read  the  final  touching  surrenderor  a  high-spirited, 
wilful  young  girl's  heart  to  love. 

The  drawing-room  door  opened,  and  the  Colonel 
came  strolling  out  to  smoke  his  evening  cigar. 

But  he  smoked  no  cigar  in  the  garden  that  night. 

With  the  softest  touch  in  the  world  he  presently 
moved  the  hall  door  forward  till  a  shadow  fell  deli- 
cately athwart  that  glaring  bright  blue-lit  patch  of 
garden  in  which  the  Princess's  beautiful  daughter 
stood  so  conspicuously  clasped  in  the  arms  of  a  tall, 
fair  Englishman,  who  held  her  to  his  heart  as  though 
Pension  Ducre  and  all  its  guests  were  a  thousand 
leagues  away. 

How  could  he  remember  anything  or  any  one — 
that  tall,  fair  Englishman  ?  Theodora  was  whispering 
to  him,  "  Let  us  be  married  soon,  and  take  me  away, 
far,  far  away  from  this." 


CHAPTER  V 

A  FEW  minutes'  walk  from  the  Church  of  St. 
Germain  1'Auxerrois, — an  eighteenth-century  struc- 
ture, which,  like  St.  Paul's  in  London,  carries  one  back 
near  to  the  beginning  of  our  epoch, — stands  one  of 
those  old  houses  remaining  still  to  tell  of  a  Paris 
that  existed  before  the  days  of  the  Terror. 

As  the  town  residence  of  an  old  but  impoverished 
family  that  had  held  lands  in  Normandy  since  the 
time  of  Rolf  the  Ganger,  the  hotel  had  never  been 
much  used  during  the  generations  succeeding  the 
Grand  Siecle,  and  a  few  weeks  in  the  spring  and 
early  summer  had  been  all  that  the  Seigneurs  de 
Memlis  had  been  accustomed  to  spend  in  Paris  since 
the  last  of  the  unteachable  elder  Bourbons  had  lost 
his  throne.  Of  course,  it  was  necessary  to  show  the 
aristocratic  inhabitants  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain 
that  the  lords  of  Memlis  were  not  yet  extinct ;  but 
the  expense  of  even  a  short  season  in  Paris  had  now 
become  too  great  for  the  slender  resources  of  a 
simple  country  gentleman,  and  the  present  head  of 
the  family,  Guy,  Baron  de  Memlis,  having  for  many 
years  spent  his  time  and  energies  in  directing  the 
affairs  of  his  ancestral  acres — quite  content  with  the 
modest  luxury  which  they  afforded  him — had  at 
length  yielded  to  the  entreaties,  and  even  tears,  of 
his  daughters,  who  saw  in  the  tempting  offer  of  the 
syndicate  the  opportunity  of  occasional  release  from 
the  dull  and  straitened  circumstances  of  the  ancient 
chateau.  Finally,  after  many  consultations  and  much 
misgiving  of  mind,  De  Memlis  consented  to  accept 

27 


28  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

an  offer  for  this  town  hotel,  and  received  a  sum  of 
money  which,  carefully  invested,  promised  the  son 
and  heir  the  opportunity  to  deport  himself  among 
his  fellows  as  befitted  his  rank  and  lineage,  and  made 
the  ladies  of  the  family  free  to  visit  at  Paris  or 
Trouville  or  wherever  they  desired. 

This  was  where  Marcel  Fleur,  whose  name  was 
burning  now  in  the  mouths  of  all  Paris,  was  established. 

It  was  early  morning.  Seven  o'clock  had  just 
sounded  from  the  deep-toned  bell  of  Notre  Dame 
— reminding  one  of  the  ancient  patroness,  St.  Gene- 
vieve,  who  erstwhile  ever  watched  o'er  the  needs  of 
her  beloved  Paris — and  Marcel  Fleur  was  already 
hard  at  work  in  his  laboratory. 

As  one  considered  this  slight,  athletic  figure, 
dominated  by  a  head  which  indicated  ingenuity  and 
alertness  in  every  feature,  one  recognised  that  here, 
at  least,  was  the  possibility  of  a  remarkable  inventor. 

The  great  salon  of  the  old  house,  acquired  with 
such  caution  and  secrecy  by  the  syndicate  for  their 
purposes,  was  now  fitted  up  as  a  laboratory,  and  no 
expense  had  been  spared  to  provide  a  fitting  equip- 
ment and  opportunity  for  such  experiments  and 
calculations  as  could  be  carried  out  within  four  walls. 

Strangely  in  contrast  to  the  rococo  ornamentation, 
which  the  architects  of  the  age  of  the  great  Louis 
had  thought  to  be  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  decorative  art, 
were  the  various  prints,  plans,  and  diagrams  which, 
without  any  idea  of  .harmony  or  aesthetic  notion, 
covered  the  walls,  obscured  the  tapestries,  and  hid  the 
forms  of  nymphs  and  shepherdesses  which  most  of 
a  former  generation  had  neither  observed  nor  appre- 
ciated, though  they  are  very  much  run  after  nowadays. 

It  was  evident  at  a  glance  that  a  student  of 
aeronautics  was  at  work  in  this  great  room. 

Prints  and  models  recording  attempts  at  the  subju- 
gation of  the  air  were  to  be  seen  on  every  side. 

Marcel  had  studied  more  than  the  modern  and 
purely  utilitarian  side  of  the  subject.  There  were 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  29 

old  prints,  showing  the  Icarus-like  blunders  of  early 
aeronauts  ;  diagrams  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  and  other 
medieval  flying-machines  ;  prints  of  the  early  balloons 
and  parachutes. 

In  addition  to  these  prints  and  cartoons,  which 
were  placed  on  the  highest  level  of  the  walls,  there 
was  a  systematic  arrangement  of  engravings  of  the 
various  machines  which  have  been  constructed  since 
the  time  of  Borelli  for  the  navigation  of  the  skies. 

Here  one  could  see  both  prints  and  models  of 
the  navigable  balloon  of  Dupuy  de  Lome,  constructed 
during  the  siege  of  Paris.  Professor  Langley,  of  the 
United  States,  the  ubiquitous  and  versatile  Sir  Hiram 
Maxim,  the  unconquerable  Santos  Dumont,  Count 
Zeppelin,  the  darling  of  the  German  Army,  the 
sphinx-like  Wright  brothers — all  were  represented. 

One  thing  that  might  have  struck  the  thoughtful 
observer  was  that  there  was  too  much  machinery. 
Great  inventive  minds  do  not  require  these  com- 
plex mechanisms.  What  simple  means  did  Charles 
Darwin  employ  ?  and  Lord  Rayleigh  ? 

But  these  were  thoughts  far  from  the  mind  of 
Marcel  Fleur,  as  we  see  him  at  this  early  hour,  care- 
fully studying  a  diagram  on  his  blackboard,  from 
which  he  passed  to  consult  his  books  and  make 
calculations.  He  opened  portfolios  and  consulted 
other  designs,  but  all  seemed  unsatisfactory. 

"  I  don't  see  how  it  can  work,"  he  exclaimed  at 
last,  impatiently.  "  I  believe  the  old  fool  Ivan  has 
lost  his  wits.  It's  a  case  of  much  ado  about  nothing." 

He  sat  down  moodily,  disinclined  for  further 
thought  or  exertion  of  any  kind. 

He  had,  he  thought,  looked  at  the  subject  from 
all  points  of  view.  But  there  was  no  light ;  all  was 
dark — the  problem  seemed  hopeless. 

At  that  moment  he  was  awakened — called  back 
to  life  and  hope.  A  knocking  below,  a  short  con- 
versation at  the  conciergerie,  followed  by  a  quick  step 
on  the  stairs,  aroused  him. 


30  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  Come  in,"  shouted  he  in  answer  to  a  sharp  knock 
at  his  door. 

There  entered  a  sunny-faced  youth,  whose  light 
brown  hair  and  fair  moustache,  well-cut  tweed  suit 
and  brown  boots  indicated  his  nationality. 

"  Oh !  Bostock,  is  that  you  ? "  cried  Marcel,  ex- 
citedly. "Have  you  brought  those  things  from 
Birmingham  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Bostock.  "  I  came  over  early  this 
morning,  and  thought  I  had  better  hurry  along  here 
first  as  you  might  perhaps  like  to  see  me  before  I 
went  on  to  Neuilly." 

"Yes,  I  should  ;  but  you  haven't  the  whole  lot 
with  you  ? " 

"  Oh  no,  rather  not.  I  have  only  that  special 
idea  of  yours,  which  I  thought  you  would  like  to 
see.  The  rest  of  the  machinery  is  at  the  Gare  du 
Nord." 

"Well,  come  in.  Mon  Dieu !  come  in,  and  let 
me  see!  You  people  at  Birmingham  are  so  slow. 
I  might  have  had  the  thing  made  ten  times  over  at 
St.  Etienne  or  Solingen." 

Bostock,  accustomed  to  Marcel's  brusqueness,  said 
nothing,  but  went  downstairs  to  his  fiacre,  and  soon 
reappeared,  carrying  with  difficulty  a  brass-bound 
mahogany  case,  which  he  placed  on  the  table. 

"  Is  that  the  model  ? "  said  Marcel. 

"  Yes,"  said  Bostock  ;  "  it  has  been  made  according 
to  your  design,  but " 

"But  what?" 

"Well,  I'm  hanged  if  I  can  make  out  what  you 
are  going  to  do  with  it.  I  don't  see  how  it  can  fit  in 
anyhow." 

"  Well,  it's  a  little  experiment  of  my  own,"  rejoined 
the  other.  "And,  you  see,  I  like  paying  for  my 
little  experiments.  I  dare  say  your  people  often  have 
similar  experiences,  riest-ce pas  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Bostock ;  "  at  any  rate, 
this  is  quite  a  new  thing  to  me.  But  the  governor 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  31 

has  taken"  a  lot  of  interest  in  it,  and  thought  I  had 
better  bring  it  to  you  myself  in  case  of  accidents." 

The  instant  Bostock  had  left  the  hotel — in  fact, 
while  his  step  was  still  sounding  on  the  stairs — Marcel 
unlocked  the  mahogany  case,  opened  it,  and  took  out 
a  beautifully  finished  piece  of  machinery  in  aluminium 
bronze. 

"  You  beauty !  "  he  exclaimed. 

He  placed  it  on  the  table,  and  then  opened  another 
case  which  stood  in  one  corner  of  the  great  salon,  and 
took  from  it  another  highly  finished  and  delicate 
arrangement  of  wheels,  cranks,  and  eccentrics,  to 
which  he  proceeded  to  fit  the  piece  of  machinery  that 
Bostock  had  brought. 

Having  done  this  to  his  satisfaction,  he  brought 
forward  an  electro  motor  and  carefully  connected  it 
with  the  machine. 

Turning  on  the  current,  he  carefully  watched  the 
movement,  keeping  count  of  the  recurrence  of  succes- 
sive phases  with  his  watch. 

After  five  minutes  he  turned  off  the  current. 

There  was  a  sort  of  white  glow  in  his  dark  face, 
a  wild  sparkle  in  his  eye,  which  indicated  more  than 
contentment. 

He  began  to  pace  the  room  rapidly. 

"  Mon  Dieu  ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  it  is  wonderful. 
Wonderful !  That  difficulty  is  solved.  I  must  let  the 
syndicate  see  this  at  once." 

Another  sharp  rat-a-tat  sounded  at  the  door  just 
then. 

"  Come  in,"  he  shouted. 

He  opened  the  door,  and  there  on  the  threshold 
stood  Sir  George  Allingham. 

For  a  moment  Marcel  stared  as  if  transfixed.  His 
heart  seemed  to  have  stopped  beating.  His  faculties 
almost  deserted  him. 

Like  a  crushing  blow  from  some  unseen,  unsus- 
pected agent,  came  the  full  realisation  of  the  fact  that 
the  tall,  fair  Englishman  who  stood  smilingly  before 


32  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

him  in  all  his  pride  of  health,  wealth  and  station,  had 
just  returned  from  his  honeymoon,  and  was  now  the 
husband  of  Theodora — for  life  or  death  the  husband 
of  Theodora ! 

"We  are  just  back — only  got  home  a  couple  of 
days  ago.  My  first  call  is  to  you,  Marcel,"  said 
George. 

Marcel  was  speechless. 

They  shook  hands. 

Their  eyes  met. 

They  looked  hard  at  each  other. 

George,  in  high  spirits  and  brimming  over  with 
the  joy  of  life,  thought  to  himself,  "  Why  on  earth 
doesn't  the  beggar  say  something — about  my  mar- 
riage— congratulations  or  something." 

But  Marcel,  with  the  wild  and  fiery  imagination 
of  an  inventor,  had  a  sudden  vision  of  Theodora's 
red-gold  head  resting  against  that  Saxon  shoulder, 
and  all  he  could  say  was — 

"  Come  and  see  what  I  have  achieved." 

"You  must  not  work  too  hard,"  said  George. 
"  Look  here,  Marcel,  I've  come  to  bring  you  an  invi- 
tation. You're  to  dine  with  us  on  Friday  night.  My 
wife  wants  to  meet  you." 

"  Impossible,"  said  Marcel. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  George. 

"  I  cannot  dine  out." 

"  I  insist." 

"  I  have  no  time.     I  beg  you " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  a  man  who's  as  busy  as  you  are 
is  the  only  man  who  has  any  time." 

"  I've  no  time  for  dinners." 

"But  may  I  point  out  to  you,  Marcel,  that  you 
must  dine  somewhere,  and  sometime." 

"  Oh !  dining  doesn't  trouble  me,"  said  Marcel. 

George  was  imperturbable. 

"Well,  may  I  come  in  and  shut  the  door?"  he 
said. 

Marcel  started. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  33 

"  Pardon  ! "  he  muttered.  "  Won't  you  take  this 
chair,  and  a  cigarette  ? " 

But  all  the  while  he  was  listening  still  to  those 
words  of  George's  that  were  being  beaten  out  on  the 
back  of  his  brain. 

"My  wife!" 

It  was  of  Theodora  George  was  speaking. 

"And  I  gave  her  to  him,"  said  Marcel  to  himself. 

He  must  do  something  to  conquer  his  inclination 
to  fly  like  a  dog  at  the  other  man's  throat. 

So  he  added  to  himself — 

"  Maybe  I  shall  take  her  away  again." 

He  rose  and  began  to  pace  the  room. 

This  was  a  habit  of  his,  and  George  watched  him 
quietly,  accustomed  to  his  eccentricities. 

Marcel  sighed,  ran  his  hands  through  his  hair, 
glared  in  front  of  him,  and  came  to  a  standstill. 

"  I  must  go  out,"  he  said. 

This  was  scarcely  polite.  But  George  was  still 
unmoved. 

"  The  best  thing  for  you,"  he  said. 

"  Why  the  best  thing  ? "  said  Marcel,  testily. 

"  Air,  fresh  air — you  need  it.  You've  gone  quite 
thin  and  haggard  these  last  weeks.  I  suspect  you've 
been  burning  the  midnight  oil  too  indefatigably." 

"When  I  work,  I  work,"  said  Marcel. 

He  had  found  his  hat. 

He  looked  at  George.  Even  in  his  present  mood 
he  could  scarcely  walk  out  of  the  house  and  leave  his 
patron,  who  had  just  come  to  call  on  him,  there  alone. 

"  I  am  going  out,"  he  repeated. 

George  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  May  I  come  with  you  ? "  he  asked. 

"  If  you  like.  I  shall  go  to  the  station.  I  go  to 
Melun." 

They  stepped  out  into  the  street. 

Paris  was  gay  to-day.  She  wore  a  morning  look  of 
happiness,  and  chrysanthemums  and  roses  and  violets 
decked  her  mood  befittingly  at  the  street  corners. 

D 


34  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

George  was  more  amused  than  anything  else  with 
Marcel's  mood.  He  found  no  cause  for  annoyance  in 
the  brusqueness  and  bearishness  of  the  younger  man. 
He  liked  to  feel  the  rough  edge  of  people  when  it 
represented,  as  it  often  did,  sincerity  and  depth  of 
thought. 

Marcel  walked  along  in  dead  silence. 

George  essayed  to  break  it  after  a  time  with  a 
little  talk  about  the  subject  which  had  brought  them 
together  originally. 

"  When  we  were  in  Venice,"  he  began. 

Marcel  started,  winced,  and  went  on  glowering  in 
front  of  him. 

"When  we  were  in  Venice,"  said  Sir  George, 
affably,  "we  saw  those  drawings  of  Leonardo  da 
Vinci's.  They  are  under  a  glass  case  in  the  Acca- 
demia.  Extraordinary  things  they  are.  You  can 
see,  as  you  look  at  them,  the  kind  of  man  who  drew 
them — playing  about,  as  it  were,  with  his  ideas.  His 
pencil  ran  along  with  his  curious  dreams,  scrawling 
them  over  the  paper,  almost  as  if  they  had  walked 
over  it  themselves." 

Marcel  was  silent. 

He  had  heard  only  one  word  :  "  We  !  " 

"There  are  all  kinds  of  ideas  of  machinery  and 
weird  objects  and  wings,  and  things,  and  you  can  see 
the  old  chap's  brain  in  them  all.  I  showed  them  to 
my  wife.  She  was  greatly  interested." 

"  What  time  is  it  ? "  burst  in  Marcel. 

"  Half-past  eleven,"  said  George. 

"  I  must  be  off,"  said  Marcel. 

They  came  to  a  standstill. 

George  saw  now  that  his  companion  was  utterly 
unstrung. 

"  I  say,  old  man,  you  really  must  take  care  of 
yourself,  and  not  go  knocking  yourself  to  pieces  in 
this  way.  Come  now,"  said  George,  "  tell  the  truth. 
You've  been  working  half  the  night  and  all  the  day 
on  end,  haven't  you  ? " 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  35 

Marcel  pulled  himself  together  with  a  great  effort. 

It  was  overmastering  him,  the  desire  to  let  go 
and  give  way  to  the  mad  fire  that  was  playing  havoc 
with  his  brain. 

"  I  am  all  right,"  he  said  dully, 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  George. 

And  he  added  after  a  moment — 

"Anyway,  you  know  I  am  always  here  to  turn 
to,  if  that  is  any  use  to  you." 

"  Thanks." 

"  I  shall  be  here  now  for  the  winter." 

"Yes." 

"  We  must  see  a  lot  of  each  other." 

"  Thanks." 

"  I  mean  outside  the  area  of  work." 

"Thanks." 

"  If  there  is  any  outside." 

"  For  me  there  is  no  outside." 

"  I  suppose  not." 

"  There  is  nothing  but  work  that  is  worth  while." 

"Then  the  only  thing  to  do  is  to  let  me  inside 
the  area,"  said  George. 

"  The  area  belongs  to  you,"  said  Marcel. 

He  laughed. 

And  in  his  laugh  was  so  cynical  a  note  that 
George  attributed  it  to  utterly  overstrung  nerves. 

"  Horton  and  Jabez  Craigs  are  delighted  at  the 
way  things  are  shaping,"  he  said,  referring  to  the 
syndicate. 

But  Marcel  was  in  no  mood  to  talk  of  business. 

"  I  have  got  to  go  and  buy  something,"  he  said 
vaguely. 

"  And  then  you  are  off  to  Melun." 

"Yes." 

"But  about  this  dinner,  old  man,"  George  said. 
"  I  should  like  your  promise  before  we  part." 

"But  I  hate  dinners,"  said  Marcel,  bluntly.  "I 
can't  eat  a  lot  of  different  things  at  a  time." 

"You  needn't,"  said   George.      "You  shall  eat 


36  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

whatever  you  like.  It's  my  dinner,  and  I  promise 
you." 

Suddenly  a  gay,  clear,  high-pitched  voice  inter- 
rupted them. 

"  Who's  giving  a  dinner  ? " 

The  speaker  was  a  certain  Mrs.  Packinthorp,  well 
known  in  Paris,  and  the  widow  of  an  old  friend  of 
George. 

She  stood  there,  barring  the  way,  looking  the  very 
embodiment  of  all  that  was  Parisian  and  artificial  and 
smart,  and  carefully,  so  carefully,  thought  out,  even 
to  the  bunch  of  violets  in  the  front  of  her  black  cloth 
Empire  gown. 

They  both  shook  hands  with  her. 

Marcel  had  met  her  several  times,  and  had  come 
across  her  at  the  hotel  at  Boulogne  where  he  had 
gone  to  find  Theodora. 

"What  dinner  is  it  ? "  she  repeated. 

Light  and  inconsequent  though  her  tone  was, 
George  grew  uneasy  immediately. 

"  Sir  George  and  Lady  Allingham  are  giving  a 
dinner  on  Friday  and  they  want  me  to  go,"  said 
Marcel. 

"And  me  too  ?  "  queried  Mrs.  Packinthorp.  "  How 
delightful !  You  did  mean  to  ask  me,  didn't  you  ? " 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHILE  George  was  calling  on  Marcel,  Theodora  was 
having  an  adventure. 

She  had  sent  away  the  carnage  and  set  off  at  a 
brisk  walk  along  the  quiet,  quaint  old  Rue  Cristine, 
where  chestnuts  hang  over  the  tall  grey  walls.  She 
had  been  shopping  all  the  morning,  and  was  now  on 
her  way  home. 

It  was  delightful  to  be  on  foot  again,  and  alone. 

Whether  George  would  approve  or  not,  this  was 
certainly  just  what  her  mood  cried  for,  this  walk  in 
the  wide,  quiet,  almost  country-like  street.  The  air 
was  sharp  but  sunny.  Scents  of  violets  stole  out 
alluringly  from  the  high,  yellowy-grey  walls,  and 
breathed,  as  flowers  do,  a  note  of  freshness  and 
eternal  youth  that  was  strangely  and  pathetically 
at  variance  with  the  old  walls  and  the  hidden  houses 
beyond,  set  back  in  their  formal  gardens. 

Life  turned  on  Theodora  at  that  moment  a  sudden 
glittering  picture  of  itself. 

It  was  so  bright,  so  beautiful,  that  her  lovely  lips 
parted  in  a  joyous  smile,  showing  the  gleam  of  the 
little  white  childlike  teeth  within. 

"To  think  that  I  was  ever  afraid  of  marrying 
George,"  she  mused. 

A  thought  of  Marcel  tried  to  obtrude  itself.  But  in 
vain.  No,  no.  She  was  mistress  of  her  thoughts  now. 

"  Verboten  "  was  written  large  and  plain  over  that 
area  of  her  memory. 

With  a  wisdom  beyond  her  years  she  had  made 
herself  a  talisman  against  the  thought  of  Marcel. 

37 


38  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

Whenever  his  name  came,  as  it  must  come 
sometimes,  into  her  mind,  she  drove  it  out  without 
delay. 

Her  method  was  very  simple.  She  said  to  herself, 
"  George  !  Mamma  ! "  and  they  came  at  once  to  the 
call.  Marcel's  image  flew  !  She  saw  instead  the 
Princess,  looking  lovelier  than  ever  in  her  freedom 
from  that  cloud  of  worry  ;  and  George,  with  his 
happiness  carefully  put  away  under  an  Englishman's 
usual  mask,  yet  showing  all  the  same  in  a  hundred 
little  ways — signs  that  Theodora  was  already  learning 
to  decipher. 

"  Both  are  happy,  and  it  is  I  who  am  the  cause  of 
their  happiness,"  thought  Theodora. 

And  by  dwelling  upon  that  she  had  kept  her 
mind  free,  so  far,  from  that  hateful  memory. 

She  floated  along  with  her  eyes  looking  far  ahead, 
full  of  dreams,  her  beautiful  lips  parted  a  little,  and 
so  absorbed  was  she  in  her  thoughts,  which  were 
mostly  concerned  with  the  coming  of  the  Princess 
who  was  to  arrive  next  week  in  Paris,  that  she  was 
blind  to  the  sudden  clouding  of  the  sky  and  the 
disappearance  of  the  autumn  sunlight. 

All  in  a  moment,  without  warning,  heavy  rain 
began  to  fall. 

The  skies  opened.  A  fierce  downpour  descended 
upon  Paris. 

What  rain ! 

Like  knives  it  cut  through  the  air  in  long,  sharp 
stripes,  beating  and  lashing  the  earth  till  the  soil 
leapt  up  into  the  air  to  meet  it.  It  treated  Theodora 
without  mercy.  In  a  minute  her  mole-coloured 
velvet  suit  was  sopping.  She  was  wet  almost  to  the 
skin. 

The  long,  still  street  was  deserted,  not  only  by 
carriages  of  all  kinds,  but  by  men  and  women. 

The  silence  that  brooded  over  the  place  was  as 
profound  and  mysterious  as  on  Theodora's  own  wild, 
native  plains. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  39 

She  looked  round  her  in  dismay.  All  her  bravery 
of  furs  and  velvet  was  drenched  already,  and  she  was 
too  lately  a  beggar  maid  not  to  feel  a  sharp  pang  at 
the  thought  of  her  ruined  gown.  Because  of  its 
"simplicity"  it  had  cost  what  seemed  to  her  a  good- 
sized  fortune  only  a  few  days  ago. 

"  Whatever  shall  I  do  ?  This  is  absurd.  I  might 
be  away  in  the  heart  of  the  country  instead  of  ten 
minutes  from  the  Arc  de  Triomphe." 

The  storm,  defiant,  arrogant,  as  though  to  show 
how  little  it  cared  for  the  peace  and  order  of  earth's 
great  cities,  rolled  along  overhead  with  a  doubled 
fury. 

Each  moment  added  to  the  fierceness  of  the  rain, 
and  now  long,  sharp  flashes  of  violet  lightning  broke 
across  the  drab  skies,  and  the  thunder  that  had  been 
rolling  up  from  the  distance  for  a  long  time  came 
crashing  in  great,  mad  detonations  over  poor  Theo- 
dora's head. 

She  was  terrified  out  of  her  life,  more,  be  it  said, 
like  a  true  woman,  at  the  noise  of  the  harmless 
thunder  than  at  the  flash  of  the  dangerous  lightning. 

She  began  to  run. 

The  great  chestnuts  flecked  down  on  her  their 
last  few  belated  leaves,  heavy  with  rain.  The  thunder 
roared  and  groaned,  and  then  pealed  till  the  earth 
seemed  shaken  to  its  depths.  On  and  on  she  ran, 
but  never  a  soul  appeared  in  sight.  Not  a  cab  was 
to  be  seen  anywhere.  The  only  sound  was  thunder, 
and  the  thin,  cruel  noises  of  the  lashing  rain  on  the 
earth. 

Suddenly,  still  running  wildly,  Theodora  saw  a 
small  side  street  cut  across  the  unbrokenness  of  this 
interminable  Rue  Cristine. 

A  gate  in  the  wall  stood  open. 

The  black  figure  of  a  man  was  standing  there. 

She  fled  towards  him. 

"  Oh !  please  let  me  in  for  a  moment  out  of  this 
dreadful  storm,"  she  cried. 


40  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

He  stared  at  her  and  uttered  a  strange  exclama- 
tion. Next  moment  he  was  kneeling  at  her  feet. 

"  It  is  I,  old  Ivan — and  you,  my  Princess's  little 
one." 

"Old  Ivan!" 

In  the  crashing  of  thunder  and  the  loud  splashing 
of  the  rain,  she  stared  incredulous  and  amazed,  and 
saw  a  face  that  recalled  to  her  the  old  familiar 
associations  of  her  girlhood. 

Before  her  was  old  Ivan  Ivolott,  a  former  peasant 
on  the  Princess's  estate  in  Poland. 


CHAPTER  VII  ; 

WHEN  she  recovered  her  breath,  and  regained  her 
stunned  senses  a  little,  she  found  herself  in  an 
enormous  room,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  windows. 
Dragged  along  by  Ivan,  it  seemed  to  her  she  had 
climbed  innumerable  stairs  and  swallowed  enormous 
quantities  of  dust  before  she  had  arrived  at  the 
summit. 

"  Here  we  are  now,"  exclaimed  Ivan. 

He  was  very  excited  ;  his  eyes  were  shining,  his 
hands  trembling.  With  all  his  excitement,  however, 
he  retained  sufficient  mastery  of  himself  to  remember 
very  carefully  to  bolt  and  bar  the  door,  and  to  cast 
searching  glances  round  the  room  in  all  directions  as 
though  to  make  absolutely  sure  that  they  were  alone. 

"  And  what  are  you  doing  here  ? "  said  Theodora, 
her  amazement  now  overcoming  her  terror. 

He  made  no  reply.  Instead,  he  seized  a  towel 
and  began  wiping  the  rain  from  her  clothes,  begging 
her  to  take  off  her  hat,  and  offering,  pathetically,  to 
be  allowed  to  remove  her  shoes. 

"  But  no,  Ivan,"  cried  Theodora,  demurring.  "  I 
cannot  stay  here.  It  is  only  until  the  storm  gives 
over.  I  must  not  take  my  shoes  off." 

"  Sit  in  this  chair,  then,  and  rest." 

But  she  refused  even  that 

"  In  a  few  moments  I  must  go,"  she  said.  "  You 
see,  Ivan,  I  am  no  longer  the  Princess's  little  one, 
Miss  Theodora.  I  am  married.  I  have  taken  me 
a  husband." 

"  Married,  you !     The  gods  be  praised." 


42  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  Married  to  an  Englishman." 

"And  is  he  rich?"' 

"  He  is  good  and  rich  and  everything  that  any  one 
can  want,  and  I  am  now  '  milady ' — and  the  Princess 
— mamma,  is  coming  to  Paris  soon  to  stay  near  me, 
and  sometimes  with  me,"  she  went  on,  babbling  these 
domestic  details  with  the  freedom  of  a  Continental 
aristocrat  to  an  old  vassal. 

She  let  her  eyes  survey  the  room  again  while 
Ivan  digested  the  information  she  had  just  given 
him. 

It  was  an  extraordinary  place  for  a  peasant  to 
be  housed  in.  All  kinds  of  machinery  seemed  to 
be  lying  about — unintelligible  to  Theodora — shining 
aluminium  bronze  things — wheels — what  looked  to 
her  like  little  toy  boats,  and  ships,  and  sails.  All 
sorts  of  rough  charcoal  drawings  were  on  the  walls, 
some  of  them  of  immense  size.  One  covered  the 
whole  side  of  the  wall,  and  seemed  to  Theodora's 
fancy  to  represent  nothing  so  much  as  a  duck  with 
its  wings  outstretched,  flying  in  a  state  of  terror 
before  the  wind. 

In  the  midst  of  her  amazed  observations  her  eyes 
fell  upon  a  newspaper  open  on  the  table  before  her. 
It  was  a  Paris  journal. 

In  the  centre  of  the  page  was  a  large  photograph. 

A  young  man,  dark,  lean,  with  deep-set  eyes, 
black  hair,  and  a  firm,  thin  mouth,  was  represented 
there. 

And  underneath  was  printed,  "Monsieur  Marcel 
Fleur,  the  Young  Inventor."  Down  the  side  of  the 
portrait  was  drawn  a  long  blue  streak  from  a  coloured 
pencil. 

Theodora  leaned  over,  drew  the  paper  towards 
her,  and  stared  at  it  with  all  her  eyes. 

Ivan  was  watching  her. 

"  Yes,  yes,  that  is  he,  my  saviour,"  he  said,  talking 
in  the  language  of  their  own  country. 

"You&wwhim?" 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  43" 

Her  hand  was  trembling ;  it  was  the  first  time 
she  had  seen  that  face,  except  in  memory,  since  the 
day  he  had  held  her  in  his  arms  in  the  drawing-room 
of  Pension  Ducre. 

"  He  is  the  most  wonderful  man,"  burst  forth 
Ivan.  "  Oh  !  wonderful,  wonderful — genius,  brain, 
will  are  inside  that  head." 

He  shook  his  head  and  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"And  will"  he  repeated  louder,  as  if  to  impress 
upon  himself  some  idea  that  was  necessary  to  be 
emphasised.  "  And  without  will  a  man  can  do 
nothing,"  he  went  on. 

Outside  the  storm  beat  loudly  still.  The  wind 
shook  and  rattled  the  windows ;  the  rain  lashed 
unceasingly  at  the  panes  ;  and  overhead  the  thunder 
was  still  groaning  and  crashing,  though  now  with  less 
and  less  energy. 

Was  it  a  dream  ?  thought  Theodora — all  this 
great  dusty  silent  room  away  at  the  top  of  some 
building  in  the  heart  of  Paris,  with  the  storm  beating 
in  at  the  windows,  with  the  picture  of  Marcel  lying 
under  her  eyes,  with  the  extraordinary,  incompre- 
hensible machinery  about  her,  and  old  Ivan  Ivolott, 
from  the  farm  at  Grindolstol,  standing  there  in  front 
of  her. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  Ivan  ? "  she  asked. 

She  must  try  somehow  to  break  through  the 
cloud  of  mystery  enshrouding  her. 

"I  am  here  for  a  long,  long  time,"  said  Ivan, 
proudly.  "  I  am  working." 

"Working!" 

"I  have  ideas,"  said  Ivan,  putting  his  hand  to 
his  head.  "I  will  tell  them  to  you,  my  Princess's 
little  one.  You  are  the  only  one  who  shall  know." 

He  sank  on  his  knees  at  her  feet,  and  began  to 
pour  out  a  wild  stream  of  talk. 

"  Yes,  it  is  true  that  I  have  ideas,"  he  said.  "  I 
always  had  them.  The  Princess  would  remember, 
and  your  father,  who  is  dead  now,  the  Mr.  Derrington 


44  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

— he  would  remember  that  I  always  had  ideas.  But 
what  good  did  my  ideas  do  me  ?  Nothing,  nothing ! 
Never  any  good.  No  good  to  a  peasant  like  Ivan 
Ivolott — no  good  at  all.  But  did  I  give  them  up? 
No,  no,  never.  I  still  kept  on,  and  I  made  my  plans 
and  drawings  and  my  models  and  dummies.  Clay 
was  there  when  there  was  nothing  else  to  use." 

Was  Ivan  mad  ?  Had  she  fallen  into  the  clutches 
of  a  lunatic  in  the  shape  of  this  old,  kindly-eyed 
peasant,  for  whom  she  had  always  had,  as  a  child, 
a  distinct  feeling  of  friendliness  and  affection  ? 

"  What  brought  you  to  Paris  ? "  she  asked,  trying 
to  make  some  headway  in  this  unintelligible  talk. 

"  It  was  he — he  brought  me,"  cried  Ivan. 

His  excitement  increased  doubly. 

"  He  has  done  much — all — for  me,"  he  said.  "  He 
talked  with  me,  encouraged  me — it  was  he  who 
brought  me  here.  I  was  penniless ;  he  gave  me 
bread  and  money." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  asked  Theodora.  > 

Though  she  asked,  she  knew  what  the  answer  was 
going  to  be. 

"Marcel  Fleur,  my  saviour,  my  benefactor,"  re- 
plied Ivan. 

"  Marcel  Fleur !  " 

"  Ah  !  You  have  heard  of  him,"  said  Ivan,  quickly. 
"  His  name  is  in  the  mouth  of  the  whole  world,  and 
I  tell  you,  my  Princess's  little  one,  to  whom  I  am 
telling  all  these  secrets  with  such  confidence,  I  tell 
you  the  whole  world  will  be  justified.  We  shall  find 
out  the  supreme  secret  of  the  navigation  of  the  air." 

"  We!" 

"  I  help  him,"  said  Ivan. 

"  With  his  work  ? " 

"Yes.     He  allows  me  to." 

"  How  do  you  help  him  ? " 

He  went  off  into  another  fit  of  vagueness  and 
excitement 

"Oh,  I  help  him  in  many  ways,"  he  said.     "For 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  45 

I  know  things  in  visions,  my  Princess's  little  one. 
When  I  sleep,  machinery  mixes  itself  with  my  dreams. 
I  see  this  going  into  that,  and  that  fitting  into  the 
other.  That  is  how  I  help,  finding  out  the  mysteries 
of  the  machinery  that  baffle  M.  Fleur  on  certain 
points.  And  then  we  talk  together,  he  and  I ;  he 
questions  me,  and  seems  to  drag  my  thoughts  from 
me.  Sometimes  he  strikes  me,  as  if  to  force  them 
from  me  more  quickly." 

"  And  he — where  is  he  ? — where  do  you  see  him  ? " 
queried  Theodora,  breathlessly,  under  the  influence  of 
Ivan's  excitement. 

"  I  see  him  here,"  said  Ivan.  "  In  this  room. 
This  is  his  house  you  are  in  now." 

There  was  dead  silence  for  a  moment  but  for  the 
rain  on  the  window-panes  and  the  echoes  of  the 
dying-away  thunder,  coming  as  from  another  world. 

"  His  house  !  "  said  Theodora,  faintly. 

"  It  is  a  secret,  though,"  whispered  Ivan.  He 
nodded  his  head  warningly.  "  No  one  knows  and 
no  one  must  know — that  is  what  M.  Fleur  says. 
My  presence  must  be  unsuspected,  undreamt  of  by 
the  world  ;  that  is  why  I  am  here  in  this  room,  at  the 
top  of  the  house,  which  is  reached  by  the  secret  stair- 
case I  brought  you  up  by  to-day." 

"  A  secret  staircase  ? " 

It  seemed  to  Theodora  there  was  nothing  in  the 
world  for  her  to  do  but  echo  in  bewildered  tones  the 
extraordinary  assertions  that  Ivan  was  making  to  her. 

"A  secret  to  every  one,"  he  said  confidentially. 
"  To  every  one  except  M.  Fleur  and  me.  No  living 
soul  knows  of  the  staircase  or  of  my  presence  here 
except  us  two,  my  master  and  myself,  and  now  you, 
my  Princess's  little  one." 

"  Oh,  Ivan  !  what  have  you  done  in  bringing  me 
here  ?  "  cried  Theodora.  "  This  is  something  I  do  not 
understand,  but  I  feel  quite  sure  that  M.  Fleur  would 
be  terribly  upset  if  he  knew  that  you  had  brought  a 
stranger  like  myself  into  this  secret." 


46  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

Suddenly,  to  her  dismay,  Ivan  burst  into  tears. 

"  But  it  is  a  secret !  "  he  cried.  "  A  secret.  True, 
I  have  brought  you  here,  but  you  were  in  the  storm, 
you  were  terrified  of  the  lightning  and  the  thunder. 
What  else  could  I  do  ?  You  would  never  betray 
me?" 

"  If  you  ask  it,  of  course  not." 

But  the  very  sight  of  Ivan's  tears  and  distress 
confirmed  her  in  her  suspicion  that  behind  all  this 
secrecy  and  mystery  was  something  her  girlish  mind 
could  not  grapple  with. 

Ivan  now  seemed  to  realise  what  he  had  done. 
He  had  given  away  secrets  which  his  master  had 
severely  impressed  upon  him  were  never  to  be  revealed 
to  any  one. 

He  begged  Theodora  not  to  betray  him.  "  If  he 
knew  that  I  had  brought  you  here  he  would  turn  me 
out  like  a  dog,"  he  said  in  trembling  tones. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  he  is  cruel  to  you  ? " 
said  Theodora,  aghast. 

But  although  she  asked  she  knew  quite  well  the 
answer. 

"Yes,"  whispered  Ivan,  "when  he  likes.  Merci- 
less and  pitiless  when  his  mood  is  crossed.  Terrible 
when  his  will  is  opposed  or  his  orders  are  not  obeyed." 

"Yes,  yes." 

The  words  escaped  mechanically  from  Theodora's 
lips. 

"  He  would  even  kill  me,  I  believe,  if  he  knew 
that  I  had  talked  to  you  like  this." 

"  Why  have  you  talked  to  me,  then  ?  "  said  Theo- 
dora, sadly. 

"  Because  you  are  my  Princess's  little  one,"  said 
Ivan,  simply. 

The  rain  had  stopped  now,  the  thunder  died  right 
away.  On  the  thick  dust  of  the  window-panes  mud 
was  splashed  in  dark,  discoloured  patches,  as  though 
to  point  to  the  length  of  time  that  these  garret 
windows  had  gone  uncleaned. 


47 

"  I  must  go,"  said  Theodora,  "  the  storm  is  over. 
My  husband  will  be  wondering  what  on  earth  has 
become  of  me." 

As  she  spoke  she  cast  another  look  round  this 
strange,  weird  room — and  one  glance  more  at  that 
dark,  young  pictured  face  on  the  sheet  of  newspaper. 

"  You  will  keep  my  secret,"  pleaded  Ivan,  pathetic- 
ally, his  old  blue  eyes  still  full  of  tears  and  his  old 
white  moustache  limp  and  depressed,  as  if  in  sympathy 
with  its  owner's  overwrought  emotions. 

"  You  may  trust  me,"  said  Theodora.  "  And  now, 
you,  Ivan,  never  breathe  my  name  to  M.  Fleur — give 
me  your  word  as  to  that." 

"  You  know  him,  then  ? "  said  Ivan. 

"All  the  world  knows  of  him,"  said  Theodora, 
evasively. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  night  of  the  dinner  had  come. 

'.'George  !  George  !  Look  at  me,  George  !  "  cried 
Theodora.  "  Am  I  nice  ?  Will  I  do  ?  Am  I  what 
you  like  ? " 

She  came  slowly  into  the  room  with  that  wonder- 
ful drooping,  swan-like  movement  of  hers  that  put  to 
shame  all  the  upright,  tightly  corseted  figures  with 
their  command  of  grace  and  dignity. 

"Who  dared  to  say  that  beauty  unadorned  is 
adorned  the  most  ? "  she  cried  gaily,  seeing  herself 
reflected  from  mirrors  here,  there,  and  everywhere 
about  the  salon. 

"  Some  man  who  paid  the  bills,"  said  George. 

"  George  ! " 

She  pouted ;  a  cloud  came  over  the  glittering 
brilliancy  of  her  face.  Suddenly  she  stayed  her 
progress  towards  the  black-coated  figure  at  the  fire- 
side. 

"You  have  nothing  but  bills  to  pay,"  she  said, 
with  a  sudden  note  that  was  very  like  shame  in  her 
voice. 

"  Theodora ! " 

George  made  a  movement  towards  her. 

"  Dearest,  what  are  you  saying  ?  What  are  you 
thinking  of  ? " 

He  put  one  arm  lightly  round  her,  lifted  her  head 
with  his  other  hand,  and  looked  down  into  her  face. 

To  his  dismay  he  saw  it  was  strangely  clouded. 
All  the  joyousness  and  glitter  of  a  moment  ago  had 
fled.  She  looked  almost  miserable. 

48 


THEODORA'S    HUSBAND  49 

He  whispered  to  her,  "  Don't  look  like  that  It 
makes  me  feel  such  a  brute.  What  I  said  had  no 
meaning  whatever." 

"  But  it's  true,"  said  Theodora.  "  I  know.  Some- 
times, when  I  think  of  all  the  money  you  are  spend- 
ing on  me  and  my  frocks  and  pleasures,  I  think  of 
people  starving,  of  people  who  love  each  other  and 
are  separated  because  of  their  poverty,  and  cannot 
marry." 

George  shook  her  lightly. 

"  This  is  five  minutes  before  your  first  dinner- 
party in  Paris,"  he  said.  "If  tears  come  into  those 
eyes  I'll  never  forgive  myself  as  long  as  I  live." 

"  I  won't  cry,"  said  Theodora,  softly.  "  But  the 
truth  is,  I  do  think  those  thoughts.  Yet  I  love  pretty 
things.  You  like  me  to  have  them,  don't  you  ? "  she 
added  naively,  looking  up  into  his  eyes. 

"Why,  that's  what  I  live  for,"  said  George. 
"  Listen  !  Do  you  know,  I  never  met  a  woman  less 
mercenary  in  every  way  than  you.  It  was  what  first 
attracted  me  in  your  character — I  saw  you  didn't  care 
a  hang  for  money  or  position — I  know  you  never 
thought  of  mine.  What  made  me  say  that  ass  of  a 
thing  just  now  about  bills  was  simply  this :  I  didn't 
know  what  I  was  saying.  I  was  stunned  by  your 
beauty  as  you  came  into  the  salon,  in  all  that  silver 
and  diamonds.  That's  the  truth,  Theodora." 

"  Stunned  by  your  wife's  beauty,"  said  Theodora, 
with  a  little  half-embarrassed  laugh.  "  That's  funny, 
isn't  it  ? " 

"  Is  it  ?  "  said  George. 

"  Isn't  it  ?  "  said  Theodora. 

They  started  apart  as  a  footman  entered. 

Theodora  was  a  vision  of  beauty  that  night.  She 
wore  a  gown  of  white  film  with  silver  softly  veiled  so 
that  it  should  not  shine  too  brightly,  and  the  effect 
was  indescribably  beautiful  and  radiant.  Diamonds 
sparkled  in  her  hair  and  corsage.  The  only  colour 
about  her  was  her  wonderful  hair,  gleaming  like 

E 


50  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

burnished  gold,  and  dressed  very  high  in  an  old- 
world  fashion,  which  lent  a  strange  piquancy  to  her 
dazzling  young  loveliness. 

The  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Ailes  were  the  first  to 
arrive,  and  scarcely  were  their  greetings  over  when 
Marcel  Fleur  was  announced. 

Theodora  greeted  him  calmly.  Her  hand  lay  in 
his.  Her  eyelashes  were  lifted,  and  her  eyes  looked 
into  his.  But  instead  of  a  pair  of  eyes,  it  seemed  to 
her  that  she  looked  into  a  furnace,  and  her  brain 
shrank  in  terror. 

The  great  salon,  lit  by  hundreds  of  candles,  swam 
round.  But  George's  voice  broke  through  the  mist. 
He  was  laughing  and  saying — 

"  At  last  you  have  met  him,  Theodora — the  famous 
Monsieur  Fleur." 

He  stood  beside  them,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other. 

"  At  last ! "  said  Marcel,  gravely. 

"At  last!"  echoed  Theodora. 

She  put  great  emphasis  on  the  words,  and  the 
effort  of  doing  so  brought  her  completely  to  herself 
again. 

"  I  have  heard  so  much  of  you,"  said  Marcel. 

Theodora  found  herself  filled  with  amazement. 
He  had  said  that  so  naturally.  She  had  never  sus- 
pected him  of  being  an  actor. 

Somehow,  for  a  moment,  she  had  almost  expected 
him  to  break  forth  into  some  mad  words,  and  perhaps 
to  call  her  "  Theodora"  before  every  one. 

'And  I  of  you,"  she  replied. 

'  You  have  just  returned  ? "  said  Marcel. 

'  Four  days  ago,"  said  Theodora. 

'  You  like  Paris  ? "  asked  Marcel. 

'  I  love  it,"  said  Theodora.     "  And  you  ? " 

'  I,  too,"  said  Marcel. 

'I  am  very  happy  to  be  in  Paris,"  went  on 
Theodora. 

Since  she  was  speaking  a  part  in  a  play,  the  best 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  51 

thing  she  could  do — the  only  thing — was  to  say  her 
lines  simply  and  clearly,  and  to  give  no  sign  that  she 
knew  she  was  on  the  stage  acting. 

"  In  Paris  one  meets  every  one,"  she  went  on  ; 
"  all  the  world." 

"All  the  world  and  Lady  Allingham,"  said  Marcel. 

He  bowed  as  he  spoke. 

More  and  more  did  this  little  conversation  seem 
to  Theodora  to  have  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  real 
life.  She  was  not  Theodora,  George's  wife  ;  she  was 
just  the  leading  lady  saying  to  some  one — the  villain 
in  the  play,  was  it  ? — it  could  not  be  the  hero ! — 

"All  the  world  and  Monsieur  Marcel  Fleur." 

"Oh!  but "  said  Marcel,  with  a  slight  shrug. 

"  He  is  very  important,"  said  Theodora. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Marcel. 

"  Very  important,"  repeated  Theodora.  "  You 
must  not  shrug  him  aside  like  that." 

George  had  turned  away,  and  was  talking  to  the 
Duke  and  Duchess,  and  Theodora  and  Marcel  seemed 
quite  isolated.  She  had  a  feeling  that  there  was  no  one 
else  for  hundreds  of  miles  round  them,  and  the  space 
appeared,  to  her  excited  fancy,  rilled  with  dead  silence. 

"I  hear  you  have  been  doing  wonderful  things," 
she  said. 

"  Who  told  you  of  them  ? "  said  Marcel. 

He  asked  the  question  with  intention. 

"My  husband,"  she  replied  softly. 

There  was  something  about  saying  those  words 
that  acted  on  her  like  magic. 

The  great  space  round  them  broke  up. 

The  silence  ended. 

This  was  George's  house  she  was  in.  She  was 
George's  wife — Theodora  Allingham. 

She  turned  with  a  slight,  unconscious  movement, 
and  brought  herself  and  Marcel  into  the  other  group. 

"  Mrs.  Packinthorp  ! " 

The  door  swung  open  to  admit  a  tall,  black-haired 
woman,  in  a  gorgeous  frock  of  scarlet  tulle,  who  came 


52  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

gliding  across  the  salon,  with  a  face  brimful  of  ex- 
pectancy of  the  delightful  welcome  she  was  going  to 
receive. 

"  Dear  Lady  Allingham,  how  sweet  of  you  to  let 
me  come ! " 

She  held  Theodora's  hand  in  both  of  hers. 

Just  behind  them  Marcel  was  standing,  watching. 

They  were  an  extraordinary  contrast,  these  two 
women.  Both  tall,  graceful,  willowy  ;  one  with  coal- 
black  hair  and  a  strange  white  face,  high  cheek-bones, 
and  great  black  eyes,  full  of  worldliness  and  self- 
possession  ;  the  other,  with  her  red-gold  hair,  a  lovely 
creamy-white  pallor,  her  entrancing  eyes  that  had 
something  of  a  faun's  look  in  them — eyes  that  seemed 
as  if  they  had  never  looked  on  anything  but  leaves 
and  flowers  and  streamlets. 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  was  beaming  on  Theodora,  and 
Theodora  was  taking  it  all  a  little  shyly,  as  befitted  a 
bride,  but  with  a  certain  air  of  aplomb  that  would 
never  desert  her  in  social  matters.  She  had  the 
instinct  for  always  looking  and  doing,  and,  above  all, 
saying  the  right  thing  :  it  was  in  the  blood.  The 
Princess  had  brought  it  from  long  generations  back, 
and  Theodora's  inheritance  of  it  was  one  of  her 
greatest  charms,  combined,  as  it  was  now,  with  the 
beautiful  freshness  of  youth. 

But  her  heart  was  full  of  fear.  In  one  moment 
she  had  recognised  this  woman.  Hers  was  an  unfor- 
gettable type.  They  were  all  so  near  each  other 
—Marcel,  Theodora,  and  Mrs.  Packinthorp — that  she 
almost  believed  some  strange  current  might  begin  to 
flow  between  all  three,  and  show  others  the  hidden 
links  connecting  them. 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  was  speaking  to  Marcel  now. 

Theodora  turned  to  the  lovely  little  Duchess,  who 
was  one  of  her  oldest  friends,  and  began  to  talk 
to  her. 

"  Who  is  she  ? "  asked  the  Duchess,  looking  at 
Mrs.  Packinthorp. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  53 

"She's  a  Mrs.  Packinthorp,"  said  Theodora, 
vaguely.  "  George  knew  her  husband." 

The  Duchess  nodded  wisely. 

"Very  reech,  very  pretty,  very  facksinating,"  she 
said,  in  her  pretty  broken  English. 

She  always  spoke  English  on  every  possible  occa- 
sion. She  was  one  of  the  few  who  had  the  art  of 
making  the  English  language  sound  adorable  and 
charming  and  musical  beyond  all  its  deserts  when  she 
spoke  it. 

"  Very  facksinating,"  she  repeated.  "  Present  us 
to  each  other,  dear." 

Some  more  people  came  in. 

Dinner  was  announced. 

Theodora  and  Marcel  were  not  near  each  other, 
but  for  that  very  reason  Marcel  was  afforded  a  better 
opportunity  of  gazing  at  her. 

As  dinner  went  on,  her  extraordinary,  haunting 
beauty  played  more  and  more  havoc  with  his  senses. 
She  was  too  beautiful,  that  Theodora.  .  .  .  To-night 
she  was  beautiful  beyond  all  words,  beyond  all 
imagination. 

As  Marcel  said  to  himself,  looking  at  her,  while 
he  talked  in  his  own  peculiar  brusque  way  to  his 
dinner  companion,  the  Comtesse  de  Mirabeau,  "  She 
is  so  exquisite  that  no  one  could  possibly  look  at 
anything  else  while  she  is  in  the  room." 

It  seemed  to  him  he  had  never  realised  her  beauty 
before,  and  yet  he  had  always  thought  her  lovely.  In 
the  Pineto,  surrounded  by  the  green  softness  of  the 
pines,  with  their  yellow-brown  trunks,  and  the  purple 
mountains  showing  between  the  tree  spaces,  he  had 
been  quite  aware  that  she  was  an  uncommonly  pretty 
girl  And  on  the  golden  sands,  with  the  blue,  glitter- 
ing Mediterranean  stretching  itself  out  in  an  inimit- 
able background  towards  Sardinia,  he  had  fully 
understood  that  the  tall,  violet-eyed  maiden  who 
walked  beside  him,  breathing  in  the  ozone  of  the 
sea,  was  out  of  the  ordinary  as  far  as  looks  went, 


54  THEODORA'S    HUSBAND 

pretty  beyond  the  common  acceptance  of  such  an 
epithet. 

But  to-night ! 

To-night  Theodora  was  wonderful.  She  glittered 
and  gleamed,  it  seemed  to  Marcel,  from  the  top  of  her 
head  to  the  sole  of  her  tiny  foot.  First  the  diamonds 
in  her  hair,  and  then  the  red-gold  hair  itself,  and  then 
the  white  and  silver  gown,  and  the  eyes  of  ardent 
violet,  and  the  red,  curved  lips,  and  the  little  nose 
that  Phidias  himself  might  have  carved,  and  the  way 
that  beautiful  shining  head  was  set  on  the  long 
white  neck  and  the  drooping  shoulders  were  all  in- 
toxicating to  any  one  with  a  sense  of  form  and  line. 

Naturally  Marcel  Fleur  had  both  these  qualifica- 
tions for  being  intoxicated  with  Theodora.  His 
brain  was  full  of  graceful,  beautiful  visions. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  "  he  muttered  under  his  breath,  "  she 
is  more  than  a  lovely  woman.  She  is  an  inspiration. 
She  is  a  fantasy — yes,  that  is  what  she  is,  a  fantasy, 
and  I " 

He  drank  a  little  more  Pommery — sec,  trh  sec 
— but  still  it  seemed  as  if  his  blood  ran  at  a  doubly 
lively  metre. 

"  After  dinner,"  muttered  he  to  himself,  while  the 
Comtesse  de  Mirabeau  chatted  buoyantly  to  him  of 
the  things  of  the  day — "  after  dinner  I  shall  and  will 
speak  to  her.  I  have  something  to  say  to  her.  She 
must  listen." 

And  when  dinner  was  over  at  last,  and  the  men 
rejoined  the  ladies  in  the  salon,  he  made  his  way 
straight  to  Theodora's  side. 

"  I  want  to  say  something  to  you,"  he  said. 

In  her  violet  eyes  he  saw  something  that  looked 
like  fear. 


CHAPTER   IX 

"You   remember  the   day   I   came   to   see  you   at 
Pension  Ducre  ? " 

Marcel  threw  himself  down  beside  her  on  the 
Louis  Quinze  settee. 

Everybody  wanted  to  talk  to  her,  and  he  realised 
it  quite  well  in  all  this  extraordinary  confusion  of 
his  thoughts.  But  what  did  it  matter  ?  He  wanted 
to  talk  to  her  ;  he  was  Marcel  Fleur.  He  would  and 
should  talk  to  her. 

After  all,  who  else  was  there  at  that  dinner  but 
himself  and  Theodora  ? 

"  Pension  Ducre !  " 

She  had  a  great  fan  in  her  hands,  a  wonderful 
thing  of  dull  gold  and  palest  rose-pink  and  ivory. 
It  had  belonged  to  some  dead  Maharajah,  but  was 
too  beautiful  to  die  with  its  owner. 

She  waved  it  softly,  with  a  rhythmical,  alluring 
motion,  and  Marcel  found  himself  setting  the  move- 
ment of  the  fan  as  an  accompaniment  to  this 
Theodora  of  the  red-gold  hair  and  the  glittering 
diamonds  and  white  and  silver. 

"  Of  course  I  remember  Pension  Ducre,"  she  said. 
"  I  should  think  so.  The  Colonel !  Poor  dear !  A 
real  colonel,  you  know.  He  led  his  regiment  into 
tight  places  in  days  gone  by,  and,  oh  !  the  irony  of  it 
— at  Pension  Ducr£  he  wore  carpet  slippers  with  cats' 
heads  on  them,  and  squabbled  with  Mme.  White  over 
the  bill.  And  at  night  he  smoked  cigars  in  the 
garden,  and  was  just  as  tame  a  cat  as  the  pussies  on 
his  slippers." 

55 


56  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

She  laughed  gaily,  a  sweet,  rippling  laugh,  full 
of  spontaneous  amusement,  which  annoyed  Marcel 
extremely. 

"  I  do  not  know  him,"  he  said.  "  I  never  met 
him,  and  never  want  to." 

"  Really  !  "  said  Theodora. 

She  fanned  herself  lightly. 

"  He  was  very  nice  in  his  way.  And,  after  all,  if 
you  are  in  a  pension  at  five  francs  a  day — and  whist- 
drives  on  Thursdays,  and  everything  included 

"  What  is  everything  ? "  said  Marcel. 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  I  mean,  how  would  you  define  it  ? " 

"  I  never  define." 

"  But  if  you  were  forced  to  ? " 

He  stopped  lounging  on  the  sofa,  and  sat  up 
straight  and  looked  her  in  the  face. 

"  Forced  to  ! " 

The  fan  waved  to  and  fro  in  gentle,  undulating, 
rhythmical  movements. 

And  then  a  delicate,  silver  voice  said  softly,  "  Do 
you  know,  I  am  afraid  I  have  not  the  slightest  idea 
of  what  the  word  '  forced '  means  ? " 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Marcel.  "Why  should 
you  ? "  .  .  .  He  looked  at  her.  "  Let  me  change 
'forced,'  then,  to  'asked.'  If  you  are  asked  to." 

"  If  I  were  asked  to  ?  "  said  Theodora.  "  Asked 
to  define  everything  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  To  me  '  everything  '  means — well — just  what  I 
have  got." 

She  threw  into  the  word  "  everything  "  an  energy 
that,  in  spite  of  its  ardour,  had  not  the  slightest 
suspicion  of  unnaturalness.  Her  glowing  face  was 
full  of  spontaneity  and  sincerity. 

Under  her  breath  she  added,  very  faintly,  "  I 
have  George." 

Marcel  looked  at  her. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  have  George." 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  57 

In  all  his  life  nothing  had  ever  irritated  him  so 
much  as  those  three  words  of  Theodora's,  "  I  have 
George." 

They  went  to  his  brain  and  set  him  beside 
himself  for  the  moment.  He  put  out  his  hand  and 
laid  it  passionately  on  her  wrist. 

"  Theodora ! "  he  breathed. 

Her  face  seemed  full  of  exquisite  pallor. 

The  soft  little  wrist  trembled.  But  the  violet 
eyes  looked  straight  up  into  his. 

"  Monsieur  Fleur,  you  must  not  call  me  Theo- 
dora ! " 

"  Theodora !  Theodora !  "  he  said,  "  you  are  Theo- 
dora. Mon  Dieu  !  And  I  let  you  go — I  gave  you 
to  him.  Do  you  guess  why  ? " 

"  It  was  not  difficult  to  guess." 

She  had  moved  her  arm,  and  was  fanning  herself 
again  with  the  great  pink  and  gold  and  ivory 
Maharajah  fan. 

"  I  swear  you  don't  guess." 

"  No,  I  don't  guess,  I  know." 

"What  do  you  know?" 

"Why  it  all  happened." 

She  laughed  softly,  and  the  gold  and  rose  and 
ivory  fan  made  undulating,  beautiful  movements  for 
a  second. 

"  I  could  put  it  all  in  one  word,"  she  said. 

"Ah!  so  could  I,"  said  Marcel,  "one  short 
word." 

Theodora  was  still  smiling  softly,  as  though  the 
whole  conversation  was  intensely  diverting. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  something,"  she  interrupted 
calmly.  "You  knew  Mrs.  Packinthorp  before  this 
evening,  riest-ce  pas  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

He  wondered  impatiently  why  on  earth  Mrs. 
Packinthorp  should  be  suddenly  introduced  into  a 
conversation  that  was  rapidly  becoming  to  him  a 
matter  of  life  and  death. 


58  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  Have  you  known  her  long  ? 

"  I  met  her  some  months  ago.  She  is  a  society 
journalist,  you  know,  and  she  once  came  to  interview 
me  for  one  of  her  papers." 

"  Did  you  know  her  when  you  were  at  Boulogne 
this  summer?" 

"  Yes.  In  fact,  she  happened  to  be  staying  in 
the  very  hotel  I  went  to.  I  dined  at  her  table  the 
night  I  left.  Why  do  you  ask  ?  What  has  she  to  do 
with  this  ? " 

"  Nothing." 

She  had  learned  what  she  wanted  to  know.  Mrs. 
Packinthorp  knew  Marcel  and  knew  he  was  there,  in 
the  hotel.  Supposing  she  should  some  day  remember 
where  she  had  seen  Theodora!  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  thought  that  annoyed  her,  though  she 
tried  to  brush  it  lightly  on  one  side. 

The  way  she  put  it  to  herself  was  that  the 
unconventionality  of  her  visit  there  would  displease 
George  extremely  if  by  chance  it  ever  came  to  his 
knowledge.  That  was  all  she  thought.  Nothing 
more  disagreeable  presented  itself.  Never  for  a 
moment  did  her  thoughts  confront  or  even  vaguely 
opine  what  Mrs.  Packinthorp  might  possibly  say  of 
her  visit. 

"  Listen  to  me  now,  Theodora,"  said  Marcel.  "  I 
must  speak,  I  must  tell  you.  That  day  I  came  to 
Pension  Ducre — you  remember — I  came  to  ask  you 
to  be  my  wife,  and  you — what  did  you  reply  to 
me  ?  You  answered  me  that  you  were  engaged  to 
be  married  to  another  man.  I  asked  you  his  name, 
and  you  told  me.  You  told  me  it  was  Sir  George 
Allingham,  and  then,  you  remember,  all  of  a  sudden 
I  told  you  I  must  go,  and  when  you  tried  to  keep  me 
I  said  no,  no,  I  must  go,  and  when  you  clung  to  me 
and  pleaded  with  me  and  told  me  that  you  loved 
me — what  did  I  say  ?  I  said,  '  Give  me  a  little  time, 
I  must  think,  I  will  tell  you  to-morrow.'  " 

"  To-morrow,"  breathed  Theodora, 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  59 

The  great  pink  and  ivory  fan  was  in  her  hand,  but 
she  had  forgotten  to  wave  it. 

"I  went  away  from  you,  and,  before  Heaven, 
Theodora,  this  is  the  truth,  I  had  the  most  ghastly 
struggle  that  ever  man  went  through.  You  repre- 
sented to  me  all  that  was  beautiful  and  desirable  on 
earth.  I  had  my  work.  I  was  filled  with  ambition. 
I  had  a  feeling  of  certainty  that  I  was  going  to  succeed. 
But  all  that  was  as  nothing  to  me  when  compared 
with  you — the  beautiful  you — with  the  violet  eyes 
and  the  lips  that  no  man  could  ever  forget  who  had 
once " 

Her  black  eyelashes  made  two  curves  of  intensest 
blackness  on  the  pallor  of  her  cheeks. 

"Once  kissed  you,  Theodora,"  he  murmured. 

He  could  not  go  on  for  a  moment.  When  he  had 
gathered  himself  together  again  he  muttered — 

"  Mon  Dieti !  How  could  I  have  done  it — how 
could  I  have  given  you  up  ? " 

Theodora  lifted  her  eyelashes  and  looked  up  at 
him. 

"  As  you  say,  the  answer  is  quite  a  short  word," 
said  she.  "  Five  letters.  That  is  not  too  long  to  be 
quite  short,  is  it  ? " 

"  Six  letters  ! "  said  Marcel. 

"  Five  letters  !  "  said  Theodora. 

"  Tell  me  the  five  letters,"  said  Marcel. 

"  M-o-n-e-y  !  "  said  Theodora. 

"  Good  Heavens  ! "  said  Marcel. 

"  Tell  me  the  six  letters,"  said  Theodora. 

"  H-o-n-o-u-r !  "  said  Marcel. 

"  Honour ! "  Theodora  repeated  the  word  dis- 
tinctly. 

She  fanned  herself  and  smiled. 

"Oh  no!  Monsieur  Fleur.  You  are  very  clever. 
But  honour  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  this 
romantic  story." 

She  looked  into  his  face  with  a  quiet  self-posses- 
sion which  almost  robbed  him  of  his  self-control. 


60  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

Every  one  else  was  talking  intimately  to  his  or 
her  companion. 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  was  flashing  her  velvet  eyes  at 
the  sandy-haired  duke  with  the  dab  of  yellow  beard 
on  his  bony  chin. 

George  was  discussing  Longchamps  with  pretty 
Comtesse  Mirabeau,  the  yellow-haired  Parisian  in  a 
gold-coloured  frock. 

The  beautiful  little  duchess  was  making  merry 
with  Sir  Ivor  Symes,  an  English  judge  and  school 
friend  of  George's. 

Josephine  de  la  Rue  was  softly  singing  at  the 
piano  a  ballad  of  Chaminade's  which  she  had  heard 
in  London. 

Every  one  was  interested  in  some  one  else.  The 
Allinghams'  perfect  dinner  and  inimitable  wines 
flowed  happily  in  their  veins,  and  nobody  saw  any- 
thing especially  strange  in  the  young  black-haired 
inventor  sitting  beside  the  beautiful  Lady  Allingham 
on  the  tiny  Louis  Quinze  settee. 

"  That  was  a  question  that  haunted  me  once  for  a 
very  short  time — nay,  twice.  I  know  the  answers 
now.  Once  you  gave  me  up  for  ambition.  Once  for 
money.  The  first  time  was  in  Viareggio,  when  you 
broke  my  heart  into  little  bits  by  telling  me  that  you 
must  go  away  and  work  and  make  money  and  carve 
out  a  career  instead  of  loitering  there  looking  into  my 
eyes.  Those  were  your  own  words.  Then,  when 
you  came  again  to  Pension  Ducre,  and  I  told  you, 
as  I  was  in  honour  bound  to  do,  that  I  was  just  an 
hour  ago  engaged  to  Sir  George  Allingham,  but 
that  I  would  give  him  up  for  you — what  did  you 
do  ? " 

"  I  left  you,"  said  Marcel. 

"Exactly — you  left  me.  Left  me  to  a  horrible, 
haunting  wretchedness  and  doubt  and  suspicion.  I 
should  not  speak  of  it  now  only  that  it  belongs  to  the 
past  and  is  quite  over,  for  I  could  not  speak  of  it 
only  that  I  am  now  so  utterly  contented  and  happy, 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  61 

and  have  every  single  thing  any  woman  could  desire 

— wealth,  love " 

"  Wealth,  love.  Love  in  the  second  place,  I 
observe,"  said  Marcel. 

"  Really,  you  have  no  need  of  cynicism.  It  is 
utterly  wasted  on  me ;  for  I  can  say,  with  equal 
sincerity,  love,  wealth.  Only  that  it  seems  to  me 
unnecessary  to  put  it  like  that,  riest-ce  pas  ?  " 

The  Maharajah's  fan  here  made  a  few  soft,  rhyth- 
mical motions  in  the  air. 

"  I  do  not  believe  it.  Lies  !  lies  !  lies  !  You 
have  come  to  live  in  Paris,  and  you  think  you  can  lie, 
and  to  me.  But  no,  I  know  you  too  well.  I  vow  and 
swear  that  you  are  not  happy.  I  swear  you  do  not 
love  George  Ailingham.  I  swear  before  all  the  gods 
that  you  loved  me  that  day  you  lay  in  my  arms  in 
the  salon  of  Pension  Ducre,  and  clung  to  me,  and 
begged  me  not  to  leave  .  .  .  Oh  !  Theodora,"  he 
whispered,  in  a  changed  tone,  without  any  anger  or 
cynicism  in  it,  but  full  of  simplicity  and  humbleness, 
"  I  did  not  mean  to  speak,  but  now  that  I  have  seen 
you  I  have  got  to  make  you  see  why  I  acted  as  I  did, 
so  that  you  won't  loathe  me  and  despise  me." 

"  But  I  know,"  said  Theodora,  quietly.  "  It  was 
all  revealed  to  me  so  very  quickly.  You  gave  me  up 
because  you  cared  more  for  Sir  George  Allingham's 
patronage  and  money  than  for  the  heart  of  the  penni- 
less Theodora  Derrington." 

"A  lie!" 

"  The  truth ! " 

"  Mon  DieuJ  A  lie,  I  say.  The  very  last  thing 
in  the  world  I  thought  of  at  that  moment  was  money." 

But  he  read  her  incredulity  in  her  face. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  don't  believe  me  ?  " 

"  I  merely  say  you  are  very  clever." 

"  Then  I  will  force  you  to  believe  me." 

In  spite  of  herself,  though  she  looked  at  him  with 
cold  and  unutterable  scorn,  a  little  doubt  now  began 
to  intrude  itself. 


62  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

Till  now  her  conviction  had  been  so  deep-rooted 
and  tremendous  that  it  had  never  once  occurred  to 
her  that  he  might  have  had  another  motive  in  treating 
her  as  he  had  done. 

And  even  as  she  flashed  her  satire  at  him,  murmur- 
ing, "  I  merely  say  you  are  very  clever,"  she  was 
facing  a  sharp  wonder.  Could  she  possibly  have 
misread  him  ? 

Honour  and  money  were  so  frightfully  close  to- 
gether in  this  situation  that  nothing  could  possibly 
disentangle  them. 

It  was  only  a  question  of  believing  or  not  believing 
him. 

She  could  never  prove  that  his  motive  was  money. 

He  could  always  maintain  that  it  was  honour. 

But  while  she  sat  there  in  this  haze  of  wonder 
and  distress  the  proof  was  suddenly  flashed  into  her 
mind  as  though  it  were  a  weapon  from  some  unseen 
agent. 

Like  Porphyria's  lover,  "she  found  a  thing  to 
do." 

"My  husband,  as  you  are  aware,  does  not  know 
that  we  knew  each  other  before  to-night,"  she  said. 

"  I  am  aware  of  that." 

"  It  is  time  he  knew,  then." 

"What?" 

Marcel  looked  at  her  with  an  expression  of  mingled 
amazement  and  alarm.  Her  bewildering  eyes  stared 
into  his  with  a  fierce  intensity.  Never  in  her  life 
had  she  been  more  purely  Slav  than  she  was  at  this 
moment.  One  minute — two — three,  ticked  away. 
Theodora  rose  to  her  feet. 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind.  I  have  been  most 
ridiculously  silly,  but  now  I  have  decided.  /  intend 
to  tell  George  everything  this  very  evening" 

With  the  last  words  she  left  him  and  went  sailing 
slowly  straight  across  the  salon  to  where  Sir  George 
was  talking  with  the  others. 

For  a   moment   Marcel  remained  in  hypnotised 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  63 

stillness,  watching  her  progress  across  the  great,  glitter- 
ing salon.  Then  he  was  on  his  feet,  moving  after 
her.  He  caught  her  up  half-way  across  the  room. 

"Lady  Allingham,"  he  said,  calling  her  by  that 
name  for  the  first  time,  "there  is  something  else  I 
want  to  say  to  you.  Will  you  have  the  kindness  to 
listen  to  me  for  a  moment  ? " 

She  turned  round  instantly  and  stood  still. 

"  What  is  it  that  you  want  to  say  ? " 

"  I  want  to  say  " — his  voice  sank — "  What  on 
earth  are  you  going  to  do  ? " 

Theodora  laughed.  "  I  am  going  to  tell  George," 
she  said. 

"  You  must  not." 

"  That  is  a  matter  for  me  to  decide." 

She  was  watching  him  critically. 

"  Are  you  serious  ? "  asked  Marcel. 

"  Perfectly  serious,"  and  she  broke  into  that  gay, 
wild  little  laugh  of  hers,  that  was  one  of  the  most 
distracting  of  her  fascinations. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  I  am  going  to  tell  him 
now,  this  very  moment,"  she  said.  "  Surely  you  don't 
suspect  me  of  such  betise  as  that !  But  by-and-by, 
when  every  one  is  gone  and  George  and  I  are  alone. 
Then  I  shall  tell  him  all  the  story." 

Into  the  young  inventor's  dark,  sallow  face  came 
an  expression  of  unmistakable  fear,  and  his  voice 
trembled  with  eagerness  as  he  said  to  her — 

"  I  beg,  I  implore  you  not  to." 

"Why?" 

"  Surely  you  can  see  why." 

"  I  am  very  blind.  I  see  no  reason  why  ;  but  I 
should  be  very  glad  if  you  would  kindly  tell  me." 

He  stared  at  her  in  a  distracted  way. 

"Don't  you  see,"  he  burst  forth,  "Sir  George 
would  never  forgive  me.  It  is  all  very  well  for  you. 
He  will  forgive  you  because  he  loves  you.  But  is 
it  likely  that  he  will  forgive  me  ?  He  v/ill  hate  me 
in  spite  of  himself— no  matter  how  he  tries  not  to 


64  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

— when  he  knows  that  you  cared  for  me  more  than 
for  him  when  you  married  him." 

He  made  no  attempt  to  disguise  the  nature  of 
his  emotion.  He  was  too  deeply  in  earnest  for  that. 
His  long,  nervous  hands  clenched  and  unclenched 
themselves  agitatedly. 

"  I  see.     That  is  what  you  fear  ?  " 

Her  eyes  never  left  his  a  moment. 

"  And  if  he  hates  you,  what  then  ? " 

"  What  then  ?     Why  " — he  paused  a  moment. 

"  He  would  perhaps  withdraw  his  help  from  you. 
Perhaps  he  would  be  spiteful  and  break  up  the  syndi- 
cate or  do  something  of  that  kind,"  said  Theodora, 
reflectively.  "  That  is  what  you  mean,  is  it  not  ? " 

"  Exactly.     I  should  be  ruined." 

"  And  that  is  what  you  fear  ? " 

They  were  standing  facing  each  other  in  the 
middle  of  the  salon,  and  neither  noticed  that  some 
one  was  strolling  slowly  over  in  their  direction. 

"  And  that  is  what  you  fear  ? "  repeated  Theodora. 
"  So  you  think  I  had  better  say  nothing.  Ah ! 
Monsieur  Fleur,  Monsieur  Fleur!  Are  we  still  to 
speak  of  it  as  honour  ?  " 


CHAPTER   X 

"  WHAT  on  earth  were  you  talking  to  Marcel  about 
all  that  time  this  evening  ? "  said  George,  and  Theo- 
dora knew  he  had  heard  nothing. 

"  He  is  so  brilliantly  clever,"  she  replied. 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you.  But,  dearest,  you  never 
said  a  word  to  the  Duke,  and  he  was  a  little  disap- 
pointed." 

"  Oh,  I've  known  him  since  I  was  a  child,"  said 
Theodora.  "  Mamma  has  known  his  people  for  ever 
so  long — and  then  he  married  my  greatest  friend, 
Carolina." 

"  She  is  a  Florentine,  is  she  not  ? " 

"  Yes,  a  Medici.  We  were  at  school  together  in 
Paris  and  have  written  to  each  other  ever  since.  She 
was  frightfully  poor  once.  The  Duke  was  frightfully 
rich,  but  she  married  him  for  love,  all  the  same." 

"  For  love,  all  the  same." 

George  repeated  her  last  words  and  laughed. 

"  There  speaks  my  mercenary  Theodora,"  he  said, 
"who  thinks  it  such  an  extraordinary  thing  that  a 
woman  should  marry  a  rich  man  for  love." 

All  the  dinner  guests  had  gone.  George  and  she 
were  sitting  for  a  few  moments  on  the  identical  sofa 
where  she  and  Marcel  had  sat  earlier  in  the  evening. 

"  The  Due  d'Ailes  has  taken  a  tremendous  fancy 
to  Marcel,"  said  George. 

"And  the  Duchess  to  Mrs.  Pack!"  cried  Theo- 
dora. "  She  takes  these  infatuations  sometimes,  does 
Carolina,  but  only  to  people  who  are  what  she  calls 
molto  elegante.  And  she  told  me  to-night  that  Mrs. 

65  F 


66  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

Pack  was  the  most  elegant  woman  she  had  seen  in 
Paris.  Certainly  she  did  look  awfully  well  to-night, 
didn't  she  ?  That  scarlet  tulle  gown  must  have  cost 
something.  It  had  the  most  wonderful  hand-em- 
broidered panels  in  dull  green  and  gold  and  black, 
sewn  with  real  rubies.  Is  she  very  rich,  George  ? " 

"  Rich  ?  Mrs.  Pack  ?  Why,  as  far  as  I  know,  she 
hasn't  got  a  penny.  This  is  a  secret,  dearest.  She 
gets  these  gowns  lent  her  by  great  French  dress- 
makers as  advertisements.  No  doubt  she  got  that 
frock  to-night  on  the  strength  of  coming  here." 

"Oh,  how  exciting!  Supposing  it  had  caught 
fire,  or  had  a  plate  of  soup  spilled  over  it." 

"  It  was  probably  insured." 

"And  that  was  why  she  made  a  point  of  saying 
to  Carolina  and  me,  '  This  is  the  first  frock  I've  had 
from  Mayeux.  I'm  so  pleased,  and  he's  so  reason- 
able ! '  Rich  people  always  love  to  say  things  are 
reasonable,  so  Carolina  and  I  were  properly  impressed, 
and  Carolina  has  asked  her  to  call." 

"Heavens!"  groaned  George. 

"I  told  her  her  husband  was  an  old  friend  of 
yours." 

''  So  he  was— a  friend  of  my  father's,  rather.  But 
— well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  dearest,  I  don't  like  Mrs. 
Pack.  I  don't  approve  of  her.  And  there  you  have 
the  whole  story  !  " 

"  But  that's  no  story  at  all,"  demurred  Theodora, 

"  No.     But  it's  a  preface,"  said  George. 

"To  what?"  asked  Theodora.  "To  the  first 
chapter,  or  a  book,  or  a  serial  story  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  scarcely  know  how  to  put  it.  To  my 
wishes,  I  suppose.  The  fact  is,  I  don't  want  you  to 
be  very  friendly  with  Mrs.  Pack,  Theodora.  I  don't 
want  her  to  get  into  the  way  of  coming  here.  That 
is  all.  I  have  nothing  against  her  except  that  I  don't 
like  her  tone,  and  I  don't  want  my  wife  to  have  too 
much  to  do  with  her.  It  was  silly  of  me  not  to  tell 
you  before ;  but — well,  one  often  lets  things  go  by 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  67 

for  a  while,  waiting  for  the  best  time  for  speaking  of 
them." 

Now  was  her  chance  to  tell  him  about  Marcel. 
He  himself  had  given  her  an  opening  for  her  tale. 

"  Yes,  I  will  tell  him,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  It  is 
too  silly  to  think  that  I  have  never  told  him  before. 
I  will  just  say  straight  out,  George — a  propos  of  things 
we  let  go  by — I  was  once  upon  a  time  in  love  with 
Marcel  Fleur !  He  broke  it  off.  He  came  back  to 
me  at  Boulogne  the  very  day  I  was  engaged  to  you  ; 
and  I  told  him  I  was  engaged  to  you  ;  and  then " 

And  then  ? 

After  that,  what  should  she  say  ? 

Should  she  say,  "  I  told  him  that  I  loved  him 
better  than  you,  and  I  offered  to  give  you  up,  but  he 
would  not  let  me,  because  he  was  afraid  you  would 
revenge  yourself  on  him  by  withdrawing  your  money 
and  support  from  him,  and  ruining  his  chances  ? " 

Was  that  what  she  was  to  say  to  George  ? 

She  turned  her  head  a  little  and  looked  at  him. 
Their  eyes  met.  Utter  confidence  in  her,  and  an 
immense  content  with  life,  were  mirrored  in  those 
quiet  steel-grey  depths.  She  looked  into  them  ;  that 
new  glorious  sensation  of  entire  security  from  harm  or 
trouble  swept  over  her,  and  the  sharp  emotions  of  the 
evening  gradually  subsided.  The  scene  with  Marcel 
receded  into  an  infinite  distance.  After  all,  what  did 
it  matter  ?  She  hated  and  despised  Marcel.  She 
read  him  like  a  book  now,  and  except  for  his  genius 
she  saw  nothing  in  him  to  admire. 

Why  should  she  disturb  George's  peace  ?  Why 
should  she  wreck  this  delightful  atmosphere  of  happi- 
ness and  calm  by  raking  up  an  old  and  silly  story  of 
her  girlhood  that  was  quite  left  behind  her  now  ? 

"  Do  you  admire  Marcel  very  much,  George  ? "  she 
said. 

"Immensely,"  replied  George.  "I  consider  him 
one  of  the  unique  personalities  of  the  age.  Think  of 
what  he  has  done.  He  is  only  twenty-four,  He  has 


68  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

earned  his  living  as  best  he  could  since  he  was  a 
child.  With  never  a  soul  to  give  him  a  helping  hand, 
in  fact,  with  everything  against  him,  he  fought  on, 
never  letting  go  of  his  ideas." 

"  And  are  his  ideas  so  very  valuable  ? " 

"They  are  extraordinary,"  said  George.  "And 
not  only  that,  but  whenever  any  one  else  has  an  idea 
— any  of  these  other  great  airship-makers — Marcel  in 
a  moment  makes  that  idea  his  own,  and  improves 
upon  it.  He  goes  one  further." 

He  plunged  into  a  technical  criticism  of  Marcel's 
characteristic  points.  Theodora  listened.  Warm 
words  of  praise  and  spontaneous  whole-souled  admi- 
ration poured  from  George's  lips  as  he  descanted  on 
the  extraordinary  things  that  Marcel  was  accomplish- 
ing in  the  field  of  aerostatics. 

"  The  wonderful  part  about  him,"  said  George,  "  is 
that  he  works  so  utterly  alone.  I  mean  to  say  he  never 
consults,  nor  is  helped  by  the  advice  of  any  human 
being.  He  experiments,  plans,  dreams,  all  off  his 
own  bat.  He  works  half  the  night,  and  then  wakes 
up  next  morning  with  a  fresh  store  of  inspirations. 
They  seem  to  come  in  his  brief  sleep." 

"Wonderful ! "  breathed  Theodora. 

But  though  she  was  listening  to  every  word 
George  said,  her  brain  was  following  its  own  line  of 
thought. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  Marcel,"  she  was  thinking. 

"  He  is  a  wild,  untrammelled  creature,  but  abso- 
lutely sincere,"  went  on  George. 

"  To-night,"  thought  Theodora,  "  I  read  Marcel  as 
I  have  never  done  before.  While  George  is  praising 
him  like  this  an  instinct  tells  me  there  is  something 
going  on  that  George  is  absolutely  unconscious  of." 

"  He  is  perfectly  straight ! "  said  George. 

"  I  never  dreamed  he  could  have  proved  such  a 
master  at  deception  !  "  thought  Theodora. 

She  recalled  the  fire  in  his  eyes  to-night  as  he 
had  cried  passionately,  "  Lies  !  lies  !  lies  !  "  And 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  69 

then  her  mind  travelled  to  the  way  his  voice  had 
changed  and  trembled  and  implored  her  to  believe 
in  him. 

"And  I  almost  did!  I  almost  believed  that  I 
was  wronging  him,  so  cleverly  did  he  manage  his 
role.  I  was  on  the  verge  of  being  convinced." 

"  He  is  a  brick  !  "  said  George. 

"  I  believe  there  is  some  trickery  going  on.  Why 
should  Ivan's  presence  be  kept  a  secret?  What  is 
the  meaning  of  all  that  mystery  ?  Obviously,  Ivan 
is  working,  too,  in  the  syndicate's  house,  helping 
Marcel.  And  yet  George  knows  nothing  about  it !  " 

Side  by  side  they  sat  there,  very  close  to  each 
other,  one  talking,  the  other  responding,  but  each 
following  an  utterly  different  line  of  thought. 

"  To-morrow,"  said  George,  taking  her  little  white 
hand  in  both  his,  "  I'm  going  to  leave  you  for  a  whole 
day,  alas ! " 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"The  Duke  and  I  are  going  with  Marcel  to  Melun 
to  see  the  progress  of  the  machine." 

Theodora  jumped  up  suddenly. 

"  Don't  look  so  gloomy,"  she  cried.  "  A  flying- 
machine  is  a  much  newer  toy  for  mankind  than  a 
wife." 

"  I'm  not  mankind,"  said  George. 

"  But  perhaps  you're  mankind  in  the  making,"  she 
cried  flippantly ;  and  as  George  moved  after  her 
she  laughed  and  threw  out  over  her  shoulder,  "  I  can 
fly,  too.  I  am  going  to  write  to  mamma  to  tell  her 
what  a  success  the  dinner  has  been." 

With  that  she  flew  down  the  room  like  the  wind  ; 
but  for  all  her  swiftness  George  caught  her  before  she 
reached  the  door.  He  seized  her  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  her  several  times. 

"  You  seem  to  forget  that  I  am  forty,"  he  said. 
"  Are  you  bent  on  making  me  young  again  ?  Whether 
or  not  that  is  your  intention,  it  is  what  you  are 
doing,  Theodora.  .  .  .  To-morrow,  while  I  am  away, 


70  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

promise  me  you  won't  get  lost  in  any  more  mysterious 
houses  ? " 

She  smiled,  but  made  no  answer.  Standing  there 
in  George's  arms,  with  the  great  empty  salon  behind 
her,  the  dying  candles  shedding  gold  light  into  the 
shadows,  and  midnight  striking  over  the  city,  she  was 
seized  with  a  sudden  determination. 

"To-morrow  I  will  go  and  see  Ivan,"  she  was 
thinking.  "  While  they  are  all  away  at  Melun  I  will 
seize  the  opportunity  to  go  and  unravel  this  mystery 
— for  George's  sake." 

That  was  how  she  put  it. 


CHAPTER  XI 

"  IVAN,  are  you  not  surprised  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  No !     I  knew  you  would  come." 

"  But  I  said  I  should  not." 

"  Yes,  but  I  knew  you  would." 

He  stood  before  her  in  a  humble,  deprecating 
attitude,  holding  his  hands  together. 

The  roseate,  tell-tale  hue  still  tinged  his  cheek  and 
other  parts  of  his  face  that  needed  no  such  tingeing  ; 
but  his  old  blue  eyes  were  full  of  that  strange  look 
of  dogged  persistence,  mingled  with  deep  kindliness, 
that  made  one  overlook  everything  else  about  him. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  she  said.     "  Ivan  !  " 

Leaning  forward  a  little,  she  looked  into  his  face. 
Her  radiant  beauty,  set  off  against  her  Russian  sables, 
seemed  to  fill  the  vast  room  with  light.  A  bewitch- 
ing sweetness  played  about  her  lips.  Her  eyes  were 
full  of  a  soft  appeal. 

She  looked  just  what  she  was  at  that  moment — a 
lovely  child,  going  to  ask  a  favour  of  an  old  man. 

"  Ivan,  I  want  you  to  help  me,"  she  said. 

She  expected  him  to  break  into  a  perfect  flood  of 
incoherent  assurances  of  his  joy  at  doing  anything 
to  help  her,  but  instead  he  sat  still,  looking  at  her  in 
silence. 

"  Did  you  hear  me,  Ivan  ? "  she  asked  in  surprise. 

She  was  astonished  at  his  reply. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "  but  will  you  tell  me  what  it  is 
before  I  answer  ?  " 

"But,  Ivan ' 

Well,  after  all,  she  had  no  right  to  command  him 
7i 


72  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

now !  He  was  no  longer  a  peasant  at  Grindolstol ! 
She  had  no  shadow  of  authority  over  him  under  the 
present  conditions  !  Yet  for  all  that  the  blood  flew 
to  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  flashed  for  a  moment 
at  the  thought  that  Ivan  should  hesitate  to  obey 
her. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Ivan  ?  "  she  asked, 
making  a  direct  onslaught. 

"She  knows  what  I  mean,  my  Princess's  little 
one,"  he  said  sagely,  "she  understands.  No  need 
for  Ivan  to  tell  her." 

"  Understands  what  ? " 

But  Ivan  had  his  own  refuge,  to  which  he  always 
escaped  when  hard  pressed. 

It  was  a  grey,  rambling,  ramshackle  mansion  of 
the  brain,  and  over  its  portal  was  written  "  Haze  and 
Vagueness,"  and  underneath  that  inscription  might 
have  been  added  "  Only  lunatics  are  admitted  here." 
Was  he  a  lunatic,  Ivan  ?  He  had  flown  to  the  ram- 
shackle house  on  the  instant,  and  was  so  vague  and 
incoherent  that  Theodora  boiled  with  impatience. 

She  grew  quite  petulant  as  he  went  rambling  on 
in  a  long,  disconnected  apostrophe  about  nothing  in 
particular,  with  occasional  hints  at  mysterious  secrets, 
of  cruelty  and  orders  that  he  dared  not  disobey. 

"  I  know  very  well  there  are  secrets,"  said  Theo- 
dora. "  It  does  not  take  much  gumption  to  discover 
that." 

"  But  I  must  keep  them  to  myself,"  said  Ivan. 

She  was  perfectly  aware  that  by  a  little  cunning 
and  cajolery  she  could  win  from  Ivan  the  most  deadly 
secret  imaginable. 

But  could  she  stoop  to  cunning  and  cajolery  ? 
Her  mind  fought  a  rapid  battle  with  the  question. 
No !  It  was  impossible  to  act  like  that. 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  stared  per- 
plexedly before  her. 

"  You  want  to  know  why  I  am  here,  and  what  I 
am  doing,"  said  Ivan.  "It  must  be  that  you  have 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  73 

come  to  find  out.  I  would  tell  you  if  I  could.  You 
believe  that,  don't  you  ? "  He  broke  off. 

"  Yes,"  said  Theodora,  humouring  him. 

"  I  can't  tell  you." 

"Never  mind." 

"  I  daren't." 

"Very  well." 

"Believe  me,  he  has  been  my  saviour,"  he  went 
on.  "I  say  this  because  I  know  that  you  suspect 
him.  I  read  that  in  your  eyes.  It  is  written  in  the 
atmosphere  about  you.  Hatred  and  suspicion !  They 
are  quite  clear  to  Ivan's  eyes.  Ah,  tell  me,  my 
Princess's  little  one,"  he  said  pleadingly,  "why  do 
you  hate  Marcel  Fleur  so  ? " 

She  had  no  time  to  answer  him. 

Some  one  was  at  the  door.  Next  moment  it  was 
thrown  open,  and  there  in  the  doorway,  looking  in 
on  them,  was  the  young  inventor. 

"You  have  forgotten  to  lock  Marcel  Fleur  out," 
he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

Theodora  stared  at  him  in  petrified  silence. 

"  I  thought  you  were  at  Melun,"  she  said,  recover- 
ing herself  with  a  tremendous  effort. 

"  And  that  is  why  you  are  here,"  said  Marcel. 

"  Exactly.     An  excellent  reason,  is  it  not  ? " 

Ivan  had  crept  into  the  background. 

"  Excellent,"  said  Marcel. 

"  But,  good  as  it  is,  it  is  not  my  only  reason,"  said 
Theodora,  spiritedly. 

"No?" 

"My  reason  in  chief  for  coming  here  to-day  is 
to  discover  to  what  extent  you  are  imposing  on  my 
husband." 

Her  eyes  flashed  into  his  with  a  glance  that  he 
did  his  best  to  meet  without  wavering. 

"  You  talk  like  a  penny  dreadful,"  he  said  with  a 
shrug. 

But  her  look  held  him  captive.  It  never  left  him 
for  a  second. 


74  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  I  want  to  find  out  what  you  are  doing  with 
Ivan,  and  why  you  have  kept  his  presence  a  profound 
secret  from  my  husband,  who  has  been  your  best 
friend." 

As  she  spoke  she  was  struck  with  the  peculiar 
pallor  of  Marcel's  face.  Always  colourless  and  un- 
healthy looking,  it  was  now  more  than  ordinarily 
pale.  He  looked  desperately  ill. 

While  she  was  thinking  this,  he  put  out  his  hand 
and  laid  it  on  the  table  to  steady  himself. 

"  Are  you  ill  ? "  she  cried  involuntarily. 

"  No,  no ! "     But  as  he  spoke  he  gave  a  deep  sigh. 

It  flashed  across  her  that  never  in  her  life  before 
had  she  heard  him  sigh. 

She  had  seen  him  white  with  rage  and  ablaze 
with  determination,  and  she  had  seen  him  in  the 
deepest  depths  of  melancholy  and  depression  that 
time  at  Viareggio,  when  he  decided  that  he  must 
keep  his  mind  free  from  love  and  devote  himself 
wholly  to  ambition.  And  she  had  seen  his  eyes  full 
of  sorrow,  and  soft  with  an  indescribable  tenderness 
— but  that  was  rarely — but  never  had  she  known  him 
to  sigh. 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  ill,"  she  cried  impetuously. 

He  put  out  his  hand  with  a  groping  movement, 
feeling  in  the  air  about  him  for  something  to  cling 
to.  She  made  a  step  forward  involuntarily. 

"  Oh ! "  she  breathed. 

He  was  swaying. 

"  Marcel ! "  she  cried. 

But  before  she  could  move  a  step  he  was  down 
like  a  log. 

"  Ivan  ! "  she  cried  distractedly  over  her  shoulder. 
But  where  was  Ivan  ? 

He  made  no  sign.  And  when  her  eyes  swept 
round  the  room  in  search  of  him,  she  found,  to  her 
terror,  that  he  had  disappeared. 

For  a  moment  she  was  frightened,  but  she  had 
sufficient  self-possession  to  drag  Marcel  into  an  easier 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  75 

posture,  and  then  to  throw  open  one  of  the  windows. 
At  last  she  found  some  brandy  in  a  bottle,  probably 
of  Ivan's  ownership. 

After  fanning  him  with  a  newspaper  for  several 
moments,  she  saw  his  eyelids  quiver  a  little.  Then  a 
few  deep  sighs  followed. 

"  It  was  Ivan,"  he  murmured  in  a  faint  voice  that 
was  little  more  than  a  sigh. 

"  What  was  Ivan  ? "  asked  Theodora,  gently. 

"  It  was  Ivan  who  told  you." 

"  What  was  there  to  tell  me  ? " 

A  sudden  resolution  seized  her. 

Bending  over  him,  she  whispered  in  tones  of  melt- 
ing sweetness,  "  While  you  have  the  chance,  Marcel, 
won't  you  confess  the  truth  to  me  about  Ivan  ?  Why 
do  you  keep  him  secret  here  ? " 

His  eyes  looked  up  at  her  fearfully. 

' '  I  have  guessed  the  truth,"  she  went  on. 

She  was  exquisitely  gentle. 

"  It  is  that  you  could  do  nothing  without  him." 

"  Cruel,"  he  said  weakly. 

"  Yes,  I  am  horribly  cruel,"  said  Theodora,  "  and 
I  know  it.  But" — she  paused  and  sighed  heavily — 
"  well,  I  can't  help  it.  I  stumbled  on  this  thing  by 
the  merest  accident.  But  now  I  have  begun  to 
understand  I  must  know  the  truth." 

She  would  hypnotise  him  into  confession.  His 
mental  and  physical  condition  put  him  at  her  mercy. 
He  had  been  working  early  and  late  without  food, 
and  brooding  over  her  marriage  at  the  same  time. 
And  here  he  was  at  the  end  of  his  tether  for  the 
moment,  used-up,  over-strained,  almost  collapsing. 

"  Ivan  drinks  like  a  fish,"  he  murmured.  "  He 
could  never  arrive." 

"  And  are  you  helping  him  to  arrive  ? "  said 
Theodora,  sternly.  "You  are  hanging  on  him, 
using  him,  paying  him  as  little  as  possible,  I  suppose. 
Making  lots  of  money  yourself,  and  deceiving  every 
one." 


76  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

She  had  helped  him  to  an  armchair  now,  and  was 
seating  herself  near  him, 

"  Ah,  Marcel,  I  little  dreamt  I  should  find  you  out 
like  this." 

He  bent  his  head  on  his  hand,  resting  his  elbow 
on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

Theodora  looked  at  him.  She  could  see  the 
black,  straight  hair,  as  fine  as  silk,  that  she  remem- 
bered so  well.  The  deep  eyes,  narrow,  and  as  cold  at 
times  as  they  were  warm  at  others,  were  hidden.  But 
she  knew  them  capable  of  tenderness  as  well  as  pene- 
tration, and  of  kindness  and  cruelty.  There  were  the 
two  deep  lines  down  the  side  of  his  mouth.  There 
was  the  inscrutable  mouth — devilish,  wise,  yet  some- 
how suggestive  of  nothing  blast  or  bored  or  boring, 
but  intensely  alive.  It  was  like  Vasari's  portrait  of 
Lorenzo  di  Medici  in  the  Uffizzi.  He  was  just  enough 
like  the  portrait  to  show  where  there  were  limits  to 
his  penetration  and  subtlety,  where  there  was  a  drying 
up  of  his  tenderness,  where  there  was  an  end  of  his 
fascination. 

"  If  I  could  explain  to  you  the  mechanism  of  my 
brain,"  he  began,  in  a  broken  voice,  "  and  make  you 
see  the  tricks  that  fate  plays  with  me,  you  would  have 
nothing  but  pity.  Mon  Dieu  /  How  I  have  suffered  ! 
...  I  get  the  idea.  ...  It  dances  before  me  like  a 
sort  of  will-o'-the-wisp.  I  rush  at  it.  It  is  gone.  .  .  . 
I  can't  carry  out  the  suggestion.  ...  A  cloud  comes 
down,  overshadowing  the  keen,  bright  edge  of  thought 
that  would  have  cut  its  way  through  any  mist,  through 
any  difficulty,  if  I  could  only  have  kept  it  bright.  .  .  ." 

He  paused. 

"  It  seems  like  a  sort  of  intermittent  catalepsy,'  he 
said.  "  Oh,  sometimes,  Theodora,  there  are  moments 
when  I  could  dash  my  head  against  a  wall  to  get  rid 
of  the  incubus,  whatever  it  is.  It  is  like  a  nightmare. 
Yes !  It  is  like  one  of  those  dreams  where  you  see 
gold  lying  at  your  feet.  Heaps  of  shining  sovereigns 
are  all  over  the  path  in  front  of  you,  and  you  are 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  77 

a  poor  and  desperate  wretch.  You  stoop  in  an  agony 
of  delight  to  pick  them  up.  A  gorgeous  vision  of 
filled  pockets  and  heavy  purse  drives  you  to  the 
seventh  heaven.  You  stoop.  Your  hand  goes  out. 
But  you  cannot  stoop  low  enough.  They  are  out  of 
your  reach.  You  wake.  They  are  gone." 

"  I  know  that  dream,"  said  Theodora,  quickly. 

"  Every  one  knows  it,"  said  Marcel. 

"Every  one  who  has  been  poor  enough,"  said 
Theodora,  sadly.  "  How  often  have  I  dreamt  it 
myself !  At  the  Pension  Ducre,  for  instance." 

"  You  know  it  is  a  dream,"  said  Marcel.  "  It  has 
come  to  you  in  your  sleep  time.  Painful  and  horrible 
as  it  is,  it  has  never  been  anything  more  than  a  night- 
mare. But  think  what  it  is  to  have  that  nightmare, 
not  in  your  sleep,  but  in  your  waking  hours,  when 
your  highest  vitality  is  demanded  !  Think  what  it  is 
to  be  stopped  from  picking  up  the  magic  gold  which 
your  own  unusual  inventive  faculties  promise  you  with 
such  lavishness  !  Think  what  it  is,  Theodora,  to  live 
day  by  day  with  that  sort  of  horror !  Then  you  will 
understand  what  it  meant  to  me  to  find  some  one 
who  could  always  go  on  just  where  I  left  off.  That 
some  one  was  Ivan.  Ivan  could  revive  the  image 
that  had  faded.  He  could  give  me  back  in  its  fullest 
efficacy  my  lost  idea  that  had  grown  nebulous  and 
vague." 

She  had  turned  in  her  chair,  and  was  gazing  at 
him  intently. 

"  Do  you  understand  me  ? "  he  asked. 

"  I  am  trying  to." 

"  A  flying  machine  should  attack  and  subdue  the 
air,  and  never  give  the  air  an  opportunity  of  attack- 
ing or  subduing  it,"  he  went  on,  growing  excited  as 
he  spoke.  "  It  should  smite  the  air  intelligently  and 
as  a  master.  Its  well-directed  thrusts  should  elicit 
in  every  instance  an  upward  and  forward  recoil." 

"  Yes." 

Nothing  pleases  a  woman  more  than  any  sort  of 


;8  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

technical  disquisition  from  a  man  about  his  work. 
The  more  technical  it  is,  the  less  she  understands  it. 
And  the  less  she  understands  it,  the  more  she  is 
flattered.  Her  ignorance  passes  her  by.  She  soars 
above  it.  And  up  there,  in  sublime  regions,  she 
sweeps  round  with  a  heavenly  smile.  She  is  full  of 
wonder  and  delight  at  the  dizzy  pinnacle  to  which 
the  confiding  man  has  raised  her. 

Her  eyes  told  him  to  go  on. 

"  Mine  is  no  mere  aeroplane  whose  fine  move- 
ments could  be  controlled  by  machinery  that  was 
delicate  enough.  No  !  I  have  been  able  to  subjugate 
crass  materials  to  my  will — Ivan  and  I.  By  a  subtle 
combination  of  the  ability  to  appreciate  the  value  of 
radio-active  elements,  with  an  unerring  power  of  con- 
tinued mathematical  analysis,  we  are  achieving  that 
final  conquest  of  the  air  which  men  have  dreamed  of 
since  the  time  of  Daedalus  and  Icarus ! " 

All  the  poetry  in  Theodora's  nature  responded  to 
those  last  words,  that  went  echoing  through  the  attic, 
"  Which  men  have  dreamed  of  since  the  time  of 
Daedalus  and  Icarus." 

"It  is  a  mistake  that  flight  is  a  mere  matter  of 
levity  and  power.  That  is  all  wrong.  No  machine, 
however  light  and  powerful,  will  ever  fly  whose  travel- 
ling surfaces  are  not  properly  fashioned  and  properly 
applied  to  the  air.  Our  invention  imitates  the  motion 
of  a  great  bird  like  the  albatross.  The  movements 
are  so  exactly  regulated  and  controlled  that  it  appears 
as  if  it  is  animated  by  a  brain.  There  is  no  necessity 
for  air-sacs,  so  well  have  Ivan  and  I  thought  out  the 
intricate  details  of  construction." 

Again  the  poetry  in  Theodora  had  been  touched 
and  responded.  This  time  it  was  the  words  "  Like  the 
albatross"  They  fired  her  imagination.  She  forgot 
the  attic  and  all  the  surroundings. 

"  Yet,  magnificent  as  appears  the  movement  of  the 
albatross,  that  great  bird  which  Coleridge's  poem  has 
endeared  to  all  the  world,  Ivan  and  I  both  think  that 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  79 

for  the  student  of  aviation  the  ungainly  Australian 
stork,  with  its  comparatively  heavy  body  and  short 
spreading  wings,  affords  a  more  useful  example  of  the 
far-reaching  ideas  of  natural  design,  in  greatest  accom- 
plishment with  the  least  means — least  mechanism. 
That  was  the  model  that  Hargrave,  of  Sydney,  studied 
in  his  careful  and  unselfish  experiments.  His  was  the 
true  scientific  spirit,  giving  all  his  results  to  the  world 
without  hope  of  gain  or  reward.  There  are  few  like 
him  (like  Charles  Darwin,  too — Darwin  and  Hargrave 
— to  compare  the  antipodes !).  If  only  the  co- 
ordinating movements  which  are  necessary  to  the 
complete  control  of  the  air  by  a  machine  are  once 
recognised  the  whole  problem  is  solved.  We  have 
worked  out  thoroughly  the  idea  of  the  vibration  of 
the  wings  and  the  material  of  which  they  must  be 
composed.  It  only  remains  to  find  a  way  in  which 
the  impulse  can  be  immediately  transmitted  from  the 
peripheral  parts  of  the  machine  to  myself — the  god 
of  the  machine.  And  then  again,  that  the  necessary 
orders  and  impulses  should  be  sent  out  to  its  motoring 
appliances.  Insoluble  that  seems.  But  we  will  find  it." 

With  fingers  gentle  as  a  monk's,  dusk  touched  the 
chairs,  the  table,  the  walls,  the  floor,  as  if  to  make 
all  sacred.  Harshness  went  out  of  everything,  slowly 
and  imperceptibly  stolen  away  by  those  creeping 
fingers.  Walls  and  floor  deepened  in  tone.  They 
grew  soft  and  impalpable  as  a  sky  or  a  sea,  or  some 
rare  velvet  from  old  Venice,  with  shadows  deep  as 
abysses  in  its  folds. 

The  motionless  chairs  whispered  of  dreams  as 
wonderful  as  De  Quincey's  Easter  Sunday. 

How  often  had  Theodora  watched  this  hour  and 
longed  to  delay  it ;  to  enchain  it  in  a  girdle  of  old 
wrought  iron,  with  mauve  lights  in  its  shadows  ;  to 
prison  it  for  eternity  in  the  immutable  walls  of  her 
heart. 

And  every  day  one  could  see  this  coming  of  dusk 
into  a  room.  It  never  lost  its  spell. 


So  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

But  to-night  dusk  and  dark  and  light  were  all  one 
to  Theodora. 

For  trouble  in  its  onslaught  slays  first  the  aesthetic 
sense,  choking  it  hard  and  quickly,  tossing  it  scorn- 
fully aside,  as  a  thing  of  no  value  at  all. 

"  In  the  beginning  I  used  Ivan  simply  as  a  means 
of  bringing  me  more  quickly  to  you,"  said  Marcel. 
"  You  !  You  !  You  were  all  I  thought  of  then.  But 
now  you  are  the  wife  of  another  man.  In  honour 
bound,  I  have  to  put  you  out  of  my  dreams.  I  must 
tear  you  out  of  my  heart.  I  must  learn  that  you  are 
not  my  lodestar.  Work  !  Just  the  work  itself,  that's 
got  to  be  everything  now.  I  am  right,  am  I  not, 
Theodora  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  I  can  do  it.     I  can  tear  you  out  of  my  heart." 

"  You  have  done  it." 

"  Yes,  let  us  say  that  I  have  done  it,"  said  Marcel. 

"  Now  you  have  a  greater  motive,  work  itself." 

"  Yes,  but  Theodora,  I  can't  work  without  Ivan. 
I  can  no  more  do  without  him  now  than  a  man  can 
do  without  air.  He  is  absolutely  necessary  to  me. 
Without  him  I  should  go  to  pieces.  I  have  made 
you  understand,  haven't  I  ? " 

He  was  standing  beside  her  now,  looking  down. 
His  eyes  were  flashing  with  their  old  fire.  All  his 
faintness  and  prostration  had  passed.  He  was  the 
old,  impetuous,  wild  Marcel,  and  his  face  was  full  of 
appeal. 

"  If  Sir  George  knew,  I  should  be  ruined,"  he  said. 

Theodora  was  silent.  Here  before  her  was  rising 
up  another  immense  deception  which  she  was  to 
participate  in  towards  Sir  George. 

"  All  would  be  over  with  me,"  said  Marcel,  "  if  I 
give  up  Ivan." 

"  But  why  need  you  give  him  up  ? " 

"  I  need  not  give  him  up  as  long  as  no  one 
knows." 

"  But  that's  wicked." 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  81 

"  What !  Dare  you  say  that  after  all  I  have  told 
you  ? " 

"  It  is  so  unjust  to  Ivan." 

"  The  only  alternative  is — I  mean  if  you  are  going 
to  betray  me  to  Sir  George — that  I  acknowledge  Ivan 
and  sink  into  obscurity  myself.  And  that — well," 
with  a  bitter  laugh,  "you  can  imagine  what  that 
would  mean." 

"  What  ? " 

"  I  should  blow  my  brains  out." 

"  No,  no  ! "  she  cried. 

"  But  of  course." 

He  watched  her  closely. 

"  What  else  do  you  expect  ?  " 

Was  she  going  to  give  in  ? 

"  Once  we  were  all  the  world  to  each  other,"  he 
said,  "  you  and  I.  Won't  you  keep  silent  about  it  for 
the  sake  of  that  ?  " 

Her  great  violet  eyes  looked  up  into  his.  For 
a  long  moment  they  looked  at  each  other — she  and 
Marcel. 

The  psychological  moment  that  comes  to  us  all, 
deciding  the  trend  of  a  long  chain  of  events  in  resist- 
less movement,  had  arrived.  Theodora's  answer  was 
to  make  all  the  difference  to  her  life  and  Sir  George's. 

"  I  promise  you  that  I  will  not  say  anything  to — 
any  one,"  she  said  at  last. 


CHAPTER  XII 

LITTLE  did  the  driver  dream,  as  he  deposited  Mrs. 
Packinthorp  at  the  door  of  her  hotel  and  drove  away 
into  the  night,  what  Mrs.  Packinthorp  was  about  to 
go  through.  Even  had  he  brought  his  imagination 
to  bear  on  the  matter,  which  he  was  far  from  doing, 
he  could  never  have  quite  pictured  to  himself  what 
lay  in  store  for  that  tall,  svelte  figure  in  black,  gliding 
gracefully  up  the  steps  of  the  little  Hotel  de  la  Ville. 

As  soon  as  the  glass  doors  swung  aside  and  Mrs. 
Packinthorp  found  herself  in  the  dimly  lighted  vesti- 
bule, she  knew  that  something  was  wrong. 

Her  instinct,  sharpened  by  multitudinous  experi- 
ences, told  her  so  immediately. 

What  struck  her  at  once  was  the  total  absence  of 
smiles.  When  she  came  in  they  always  smiled. 
Everybody  smiled.  There  was  a  smile  from  the  hall- 
porter,  and  there  was  a  smile  from  the  tall  black 
waiter,  who  was  always  hovering  about  in  these 
regions,  though  he  really  belonged  to  somewhere  far 
in  the  background.  And  then  there  was  a  smile  from 
Signer  Baldisari,  the  proprietor,  who  was  generally 
propping  up  the  pillars  of  the  vestibule  while  he 
twirled  his  little  black  moustache,  and  curled  and 
uncurled  an  extraordinary  pair  of  thin  legs  and  great 
grey  check  trousers.  There  he  was  to-night,  as  usual. 
But  there  was  no  smile  from  him.  His  face  had  a 
cold  look.  The  eyes  never  lightened  at  the  sight  of 
the  tall  slim  lady  in  the  large  hat,  who  came  gliding 
through  the  swing  glass  doors. 

And  then  the  wife  of  the  proprietor,  Signora 
82 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  83 

Baldisari !  The  most  extraordinary  thing  of  all  was 
that  there  should  be  no  smile  from  her!  For  her 
small  round  face,  brown  and  cosy  as  a  nut,  was 
usually  only  too  ready  to  burst  into  a  perfect  ripple 
of  smiles  and  flashing  white  teeth  and  sparkling  eyes. 
She  was  as  solemn  as  a  judge  to-night.  Not  a 
suspicion  of  brightness  was  to  be  detected  in  the  severe 
and  gloomy  countenance  which  she  presented  to  Mrs. 
Packinthorp,  as  the  lady  leaned  over  the  little  counter 
of  the  office  and  asked  for  her  key. 

"  Something  is  wrong,"  thought  Mrs.  Packinthorp. 

Her  heart  sank. 

She  had  picked  out  this  hotel,  cheap  and  obscure 
as  it  was,  simply  for  the  reason  that  the  proprietors 
were  Florentines.  And  her  worldly  instinct  had  told 
her  that  she  would  find  life  an  easier  thing  among 
people  from  Florence  than  people  from  Paris. 

In  fact,  she  had  said  to  herself  when  she  came 
here  :  "  I  shall  get  away  from  that  awful  business 
instinct  and  thriftiness  of  the  Parisian,  and  instead — 
well,  instead  I  shall  have,  maybe,  a  little  less  smart- 
ness and  cleanliness — a  different  kind  of  cooking,  and 
a  certain  air  of  '  let  things  go '  ;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  shall  have  smiles,  always  smiles,  and  for  a 
woman  who  is  pushed  and  worried  as  I  am,  the 
value  of  a  smile  is  beyond  all  computation." 

That  is  what  Mrs.  Packinthorp  had  said  to 
herself  when  she  chose  the  Hdtel  de  la  Ville — and 
Signer  and  Signora  Baldisari — for  her  winter 
quarters. 

"  Are  there  any  letters  for  me  ? "  she  queried  at 
the  counter. 

"Yes,  madame.  I  have  sent  them  up  to 
madame's  room,"  she  added. 

"  Oh.     Thank  you  so  much." 

She  turned  away,  and  was  about  to  go  towards 
the  lift. 

"  Madame  ! "  Signora  Baldisari  was  speaking  to 
her. 


S4  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  Yes,  Signora,"  she  said,  turning  back. 

Her  heart  sank. 

She  knew  only  too  well  what  was  coming. 

Before  her  eyes  floated  a  vision  of  three  figures. 

They  grew  larger  and  larger. 

They  seemed  to  swell  and  cover  the  whole 
universe. 

6 — 8 — 6  !  she  saw  scrawled  in  enormous  figures 
before  her  mind's  eye. 

"  May  I  speak  to  you  for  a  moment?"  the  Signora 
was  saying.  "  I  haf  very  sorry  .  .  .  must  be  I  must 
ask  you  " — she  looked  frightfully  gloomy,  and  dropped 
her  voice — "  your  bill,"  she  said. 

"  My  bill.     Ah  !  yes  ;  of  course !  " 

"  Of  course,  for  me,  madame,  it  is  not  matter.  But 
my  husband,  the  Signore,  he  ask  me  about  it  ... 
allora — and  so — it  will  be  a  very  great  convenience, 
madame,  if  madame  would  settle  her  bill  to-night." 

"  To-night  !  "  Mrs.  Packinthorp  repeated  the 
words  stupidly. 

"  It  is  six  hundred  and  eighty-six  francs,"  said 
the  Signora. 

"  Six  hundred  and  eighty-six  francs,"  repeated 
Mrs.  Packinthorp. 

She  felt  dazed.  With  a  tremendous  effort  she 
collected  herself  and  managed  to  curl  her  lips  in  a 
rather  pathetic  semblance  of  a  smile. 

"  Cara  Signora,"  she  said,  leaning  ingratiatingly 
on  the  counter,  "  do  please  forgive  me  for  letting  my 
account  run  on  like  that  .  .  .  yes,  I  know,  it  is 
simply  dreadful  of  me  .  .  .  but,  you  see,  I  was 
waiting  for  some  money." 

"  I  am  sorry." 

The  little  dark  figure  on  the  other  side  of  the 
counter  seemed  to  grow  stiffer  and  sterner.  She 
puffed  out  her  little  chest  as  a  pigeon  might,  and  her 
small,  squeezed-in  waist  receded.  The  great  black 
eyes  opened  wide,  and  the  eyebrows  went  up  some- 
where into  the  region  of  the  heavy  black  fringe  above. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  85 

At  the  same  time  her  shoulders  shrugged  themselves 
up  to  her  ears,  and  the  little  creamy  hands  were  flung 
out  in  a  gesture  that  seemed  to  indicate  despair, 
protest,  and  resignation  all  together. 

"  Must  be  madame  settles  her  account  to-night," 
she  said. 

"  To-night ! " 

The  words  struck  Mrs.  Packinthorp  like  a  blow 
from  a  weapon.  She  felt  faint.  The  vestibule,  the 
counter,  the  dim  light,  and  the  little  pigeon-like 
figure  of  the  Signora  swam  before  her.  In  the  back- 
ground the  Signore  was  leaning  up  against  the  pillar 
with  his  twisted  legs  and  little  moustache. 

"  To-night  is  quite  impossible,  cara  Signora.  For 
instance,  look  at  the  hour  now,  and  I  must  dress  and 
go  out  to  dinner — and  there  are  several  receptions 
and  balls  afterwards." 

"  To-night  !  "  replied  the  implacable  Signora. 

"  But  I  cannot.  It  is  out  of  the  question  ! "  cried 
Mrs.  Packinthorp. 

"  Why  is  it  impossible  ? " 

Why  ?  Her  mind  revolved  desperately  round 
a  score  of  reasons,  and  ultimately  she  held  up  one 
to  the  Signora. 

"  Because  the  banks  are  shut." 

The  Signora  laughed.  She  threw  out  her  hands 
and  shook  her  shoulders. 

"  True,  the  banks  are  shut,  madame  ;  but  what 
does  that  matter  ?  Madame  keeps  no  money  in 
a  bank." 

The  words  and  tone  seemed  to  Mrs.  Packinthorp 
the  acme  of  cruelty.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  had 
just  deluded  herself  into  the  idea  she  had  a  banking 
account,  and  that  in  the  morning  she  could  write 
out  a  cheque  and  give  it  to  the  Signora,  as  other 
people  did. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ? " 

"  My  husband,  he  knows." 

"  What  business  is  it  of  his  ?  " 


86  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"Madame,  it  is  his  business  that  his  bills  are 
paid." 

"  I  tell  you,  Signora,  your  bill  will  be  paid ;  but 
you  ask  the  impossible  when  you  ask  me  to  pay 
it  to-night." 

"  When,  then,  madame  ?  When  ?  Yes,  when  ? 
That  is  what  I  want  to  know.  If  not  to-night,  when  ? 
You  understand,  madame,  there  can  be  no  more  of 
this  putting  off.  We  are  poor  people — poverini — 
my  Mario  and  I.  It  is  not  that  we  are  grasping. 
It  is  not  that  we  are  greedy.  It  is  that  we  want 
the  money.  We  have  bills :  we  must  meet  them  ; 
obligations,  things  to  pay  here,  there,  and  everywhere. 
How  can  we  do  this  if  our  clientele  keep  us  waiting 
for  hundreds  of  francs  ?  Be  reasonable,  madame. 
Say  to  me  now,  frankly,  if  you  do  not  pay  your  bill 
to-night,  will  you  pay  it  to-morrow  ? " 

To-morrow  !  Mrs.  Packinthorp's  mind  swept 
wildly  round  the  world  of  Paris.  How  was  she  to 
pay  that  bill  to-morrow  ? 

The  Signora  was  watching  her  as  a  cat  watches 
a  mouse. 

"  If  not,"  she  said  softly,  leaning  her  dimpled 
elbows  on  the  counter,  and  resting  her  little  face  in 
her  small  brown  hand,  "  if  not,  madame,  you  must  go" 

At  that  moment  the  Signore  uncurled  himself 
from  his  post  in  the  background,  and,  with  a  silent 
movement,  placed  himself  beside  Mrs.  Packinthorp 
at  the  counter. 

"  Is  it  not  so,  Mario  ? "  said  his  wife,  appealing  to 
him.  "I  tell  the  Signora  she  must  pay  her  bill 
to-night.  She  say  she  cannot.  She  say  she  must 
wait  till  the  morning  for  the  bank." 

Mario  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  shook  his  head, 
and  as  Mrs.  Packinthorp  turned  to  look  at  him,  she 
saw  an  expression  of  fierce  resentment  in  his  little 
black  eyes. 

"  Can  you  pay  in  the  morning  ? "  he  demanded. 
His  tone  was  full  of  studied  insolence. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  87 

"Certainly!"  She  drew  herself  up.  "I  shall 
certainly  settle  your  bill  to-morrow,"  she  said,  sum- 
moning up  every  vestige  of  dignity  which  she  could 
command.  She  stepped  to  the  lift,  and  ordered  the 
page-boy  to  take  her  up  to  her  room. 

"You  understand,  madame,"  cried  the  Signore, 
following  her.  "  We  wait  till  to-morrow,  but  no 
longer.  After  to-morrow  madame  pays — or — she  must 
be  made  to  pay." 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  opened  the  door  of  her  room 
with  a  heart  of  lead  and  spirits  correspondingly  dead 
and  heavy.  Turning  on  the  electric  light,  she  dis- 
covered at  once  that  the  fire  was  not  lit.  The  next 
thing  that  struck  her  was  a  large  blue  envelope  on 
the  mantelpiece  marked  "  Urgent,"  and  in  the  corner 
the  name  of  a  firm  of  solicitors.  A  pile  of  letters  lay 
on  her  table.  She  opened  them  one  after  the  other. 
Each  one  had  the  same  story  to  tell.  Bills !  bills ! 
bills !  Most  of  them  were  accompanied  with  threats. 

After  she  had  gone  through  half  a  dozen  of  them, 
her  lips  still  wearing  that  forced,  unnatural  smile, 
she  suddenly  gave  way,  and  dropping  her  arms  on 
to  the  table,  let  her  head  fall  in  helpless  misery,  while 
she  burst  into  tears. 

"  Dio  mio  !    What  am  I  going  to  do  ? " 

There  was  no  time  for  tears.  Even  that  solace 
was  denied  her.  A  loud  rap  sounded  at  her  door. 
She  jumped  to  her  feet,  wiped  her  eyes,  and  cried, 
"  One  moment,  I  am  coming."  She  opened  the  door. 
The  tall  black  waiter,  fed  on  scraps,  stood  there,  with 
a  cold  gleam  in  his  eye.  And  beside  him,  in  the 
shadow,  stood  a  vague  man,  who  looked  as  if  he  had 
no  silhouette,  so  flabby  and  disjointed  and  utterly 
without  outline  was  he.  He  stepped  forward. 

"  Is  it  Mrs.  Packinthorp  ? "  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"You  are  she?  Thank  you,  madame."  He  laid 
in  her  hands  a  document, 

"  For  me  ? " 


88  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"Yes,  madame,  for  you.  You  will  please  attend 
to  it,  riest-ce pas,  to-day?" 

The  tall  black  waiter  bowed.  They  disappeared 
into  the  gloomy  corridor.  Mrs.  Packinthorp  re- 
entered  her  room.  She  opened  the  document  She 
tossed  it  to  the  floor  with  a  desperate  energy.  It 
informed  her  that  a  legal  process  was  served  upon 
her  by  Mme.  Claude  Donot,  to  whom  she  owed  up- 
wards of  2000  francs  for  hats,  cloaks,  and  underwear. 

She  threw  herself  back  into  the  chair  and  lay 
there  like  a  log  for  fully  half  an  hour.  In  the  whirl 
of  her  thoughts  no  solution  came  to  the  problem  that 
was  pressing  on  her.  How  could  she  get  rid  of  this 
terrible  incubus  ?  How  could  she  pay  these  people  ? 
What  sop  could  she  throw  to  these  ravening  wolves  ? 
They  seemed,  to  her  excited  imagination,  to  stretch 
out  over  league  after  league  of  country,  yelping,  with 
open  mouths  and  lolling  tongues,  for  her  very  life- 
blood  itself.  She  had  gone  too  far.  Her  gambling, 
her  extravagances,  her  wilful  hoping  that  things 
would  and  must  turn  out  differently  had  come  to 
a  climax  at  last.  She  had  borrowed  from  every  one 
she  knew.  She  had  exhausted  her  own  capacities. 
She  had  even  scared  away  her  luck.  What  was  left  ? 
Nothing. 

Suddenly,  across  the  grey  misery  of  her  thoughts 
came  a  vision  of  the  beautiful  Lady  Allingham,  with 
the  red-gold  hair  and  the  exquisite  Greek  profile, 
dressed  in  white  and  silver,  with  diamonds  glittering 
on  her  radiant  head,  and  the  ineffable  loveliness  of 
youth  written  in  her  violet  eyes. 

"  She  has  everything  any  one  could  desire  or 
imagine,  and  I — I  have  nothing." 

Her  eyes,  sweeping  desperately  round  her  bed- 
room, fell  on  the  newspaper  on  the  sofa  beside  her. 
She  picked  it  up  and  opened  it  mechanically.  The 
first  thing  that  met  her  sight  was  an  article  headed 
in  conspicuous  letters,  "  Blackmail." 

The  words  struck  into  her  senses.     She  began  to 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  89 

read.  There  was  a  report  of  a  speech  of  a  judge, 
who  had  expressed  himself  very  plainly  on  an  evil 
which  was  threatening  to  grow  apace  nowadays.  She 
read  on,  fascinated.  But  each  sentence,  uttered  by 
the  learned  legal  light  as  a  warning  to  mankind,  was 
received  by  Mrs.  Packinthorp  in  quite  a  contrary 
manner.  Instead  of  warning,  she  drew  inspiration 
from  it.  Instead  of  being  made  to  feel  horrified  at 
the  evil,  she  seized  upon  it  with  all  her  mind,  and 
saw  in  it  her  means  of  escape  from  the  present  mass 
of  difficulties.  Little  did  that  judge  dream  what 
effect  those  remarks  of  his  would  have  on  one  whom 
they  might  well  have  been  intended  to  warn.  But 
it  is  often  so  in  life.  To  air  an  evil  has  its  dangers. 
The  more  Mrs.  Packinthorp  read,  the  clearer  grew  an 
intention  in  her  mind. 

The  recollection  of  her  first  meeting  with  Lady 
Allingham  had  returned  to  her. 

That  was  something  she  had  often  thought  of. 
Many  and  many  a  time  had  she  wondered  what  on 
earth  Theodora  had  been  doing  there  in  the  hotel. 
Why  was  she  coming  out  of  Monsieur  Fleur's  room, 
a  young  girl,  alone  and  unchaperoned,  at  eight  o'clock 
in  the  evening  ?  True,  she  knew  that  Monsieur 
Fleur  was  not  there.  It  happened  that  she  had  met 
him  in  the  office  downstairs  a  moment  later.  But 
still  there  must  have  been  something — some  romance, 
some  secret  story.  How  much  and  how  little  of  all 
this  had  been  kept  a  secret  from  George  ? 

Then  she  thought  again  of  the  Baldisaris  down- 
stairs, of  the  Signora,  with  her  set  face,  and  the 
Signore,  with  his  implacable  eyes,  demanding  pay- 
ment of  her  bill  on  the  morrow. 

"  Money  ! "  she  said  to  herself.  "  Money,  money ! 
I  must  have  money !  " 

Next  afternoon  she  presented  herself  at  Theodora's 
house,  to  find  Marcel  Fleur  there  alone  with  his 
hostess. 

The  moment  Marcel  had  disappeared  she  plunged 


90  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

straight  into  her  story  to  Theodora,  with  variations  to 
suit  the  situation  and  her  listener. 

"  Do  you  mean  you  want  me  to — to  lend  it  to 
you  ?  "  said  Theodora. 

"  Exactly.     A  loan,  not  a  gift,  of  course." 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  had  a  sudden  catch  of  the 
breath. 

"  Is  it  not  dreadful  of  me  to  ask  you  ? "  she  said. 
"  If  you  only  knew  how  I  feel !  It  seems  to  me  I 
could  sink  into  the  earth  with  humiliation.  And  yet — 
and  yet  what  can  I  do  ?  I  must  have  it.  I  have  come 
to  a  point  where  I  simply  cannot  go  on  any  further 
without." 

"Do  you  mean  you  must  have  ^300  at  once?" 
said  Theodora,  aghast. 

"Yes,"  she  nodded,  "at  once." 

"  When  do  you  mean  by  at  once  ?  Next 
week  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to-night — at  the  latest.  If  it  is  to  be  of 
any  use  at  all,  if  it  is  to  save  me,  it  must  be  to-night. 
Otherwise "  she  paused. 

"  What  will  happen  otherwise  ?  "  asked  Theodora. 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  Otherwise,"  said  Mrs.  Packinthorp,  slowly,  at  last 
— "  well,  there  must  not  be  any  otherwise." 

Theodora  met  her  eyes,  and  a  cold  shiver  ran 
through  her.  Something  desperate  and  unmasked 
was  looking  at  her  out  of  those  great  black  velvet 
orbs. 

"  I  have  no  money  of  my  own.  I  shall  have  to 
ask  George  for  it,"  she  said. 

"You  will  see  about  it  at  once,"  went  on  Mrs. 
Packinthorp.  "  How  kind  of  you !  A  special  messenger 
after  dinner  to-night,  perhaps " 

Theodora  was  silent.  How  on  earth  was  she  to 
do  this  at  a  moment's  notice  ?  What  would  George 
say  ? 

"  I  suppose  I  can  do  it,"  she  said  hesitatingly. 

"  You  must  do  it,"  said  Mrs.  Packinthorp.   "  There 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  91 

are  reasons  why  it  is  in  your  interests  as  well  as 
mine  that  you  should  send  me  that  cheque  to-night. 
For  instance" — she  leaned  forward  and  dropped  her 
voice — "  there's  that  evening  at  Boulogne  when  I  saw 
you  coming  down  the  corridor  of  Monsieur  Fleur's 
hotel — you  remember  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MRS.  PACKINTHORP,  with  £300  in  her  pocket,  felt  like 
a  beleaguered  general  to  whom  a  strong  reinforcement 
has  suddenly  arrived.  She  could  face  the  enemy.  In 
fact,  there  was  no  enemy.  By  sheer  force  of  numbers, 
otherwise  money,  she  was  going  to  conquer  the  world. 
Three  hundred  pounds  !  There  it  was,  in  a  cheque 
signed  "  George  Allingham,"  on  the  Credit  Lyonnais. 

A  messenger  brought  it  round  about  eight  o'clock, 
and  she  immediately  went  downstairs  to  the  desk  and 
had  an  interview  with  the  proprietress. 

There  was  a  little  incredulity  on  the  part  of  the 
latter,  but  a  judicious  exhibition  of  the  cheque  con- 
vinced her  that  this  was  genuine.  Her  smiles,  and 
those  of  her  husband,  reappeared  as  if  by  magic.  It 
only  remained  for  Mrs.  Packinthorp  to  be  a  little 
patronising  in  her  manner,  and  slightly  pitiful,  but 
forgiving.  And  that  she  could  easily  be,  under  the 
circumstances. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  beside  herself  with 
happiness  and  excitement.  It  was  a  long  time — she 
could  scarcely  remember  how  long,  in  fact — since  she 
had  had  three  hundred  pounds  in  her  possession. 

Next  morning  she  awoke  early,  after  what  the 
French  call  a  nuit  blanche,  an  almost  sleepless  night 
But  she  was  not  tired.  On  the  contrary,  she  was 
buoyed  up  with  happiness  and  that  joyous  feeling  of 
possessing  the  world. 

"  What  a  thing  it  is  to  have  money,"  she  said  to 
herself. 

After  her  coffee  she  rose  and  dressed  carefully, 
92 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  93 

and  then,  hailing  a  taxi,  she  hastened  away  to  the 
bank  to  get  the  cheque  cashed.  After  that  she  returned 
to  the  hotel  and  settled  her  account  with  madame. 

"And  what  shall  I  do  now?"  she  thought.  It 
was  Saturday  afternoon.  The  first  thing  that  occurred 
to  her  was  that,  after  all  the  strain  and  worry  and 
annoyance,  she  was  fairly  entitled  to  a  little  pleasure. 
She  thought  for  a  moment.  Then  she  went  to  the 
telephone  and  rang  up  Ernest  Chetwynd,  a  journalist 
friend  of  hers. 

"  What  are  you  doing  this  afternoon  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  am  busy  till  six,"  he  said.  "  After  that  I  am 
at  your  disposal." 

"  Till  six,"  she  thought  rapidly.  "  Well,  then,  come 
for  me  at  seven,  and  we  will  dine  together  at  the  club." 

"  What  club  ? " 

"  Ah  yes  !  You  know  what  I  mean — the  Villa 
Rose." 

At  seven  o'clock  she  was  ready,  dressed  in  a 
shimmering  and  very  conspicuous  Directoire  gown 
of  orange  chiffon,  hung  with  a  tunic  of  gold  and  green 
beads.  The  corsage  was  studded  with  heavy  gold 
trimmings.  Over  this  she  threw  a  magnificent  cloak 
of  black  crepe  and  marabout. 

They  drove  away  in  a  taxi.  The  driver  muttered 
under  his  breath,  "  Pleased  to  drive  madame  to  the 
end  of  the  earth  "  when  he  received  his  orders.  He 
was  overcome,  like  a  true  Parisian,  by  her  superb 
toilette  and  her  inimitable  chic. 

They  sped  along  the  boulevard,  past  the  Opera, 
with  its  flaring  lights,  the  wondrous  illuminated 
advertisements  surrounding  the  Place  de  1'Opera  and 
the  Cafe  de  la  Paix  at  the  corner,  with  its  curious 
crowd,  where  Greeks  jostled  Japanese,  and  Englishmen 
sat  back  to  back  with  Mexicans  ;  past  Olympia,  with 
its  hordes  of  unscrupulous  guides  waiting  for  the 
unwary  traveller,  and  its  flare  of  music-hall  lights 
and  posters  ;  past  the  beautiful  church  of  the  Made- 
leine, whose  dignity  contrasted  so  strikingly  with 


94  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

the  loud  glare  of  the  boulevards ;  past  the  Arc  de 
Triomphe.  The  cab  went  sharply  round  the  Avenue 
Victor  Hugo. 

Few  of  the  passers-by  in  this  much  frequented 
thoroughfare  ever  turn  down  Square  Corday. 
Although  dignified  by  the  name  of  "  square,"  it  is 
really  a  cul-de-sac.  A  few  charming  little  villas 
stand  about  it.  Behind  their  high  walls,  with  their 
iron  gates,  they  wear  an  air  of  seclusion  not  often 
to  be  met  with  in  Paris  ;  and  when  one  does  meet 
with  it,  the  charm  seems  intensified  a  hundredfold  by 
contrast  with  the  whirl  of  the  gay  metropolis. 

Down  this  cul-de-sac,  otherwise  Square  Corday, 
went  the  smooth  wheels  of  the  taxi,  awaking  gentle 
echoes  in  the  secluded  neighbourhood. 

It  stopped  at  last  before  the  gates  of  a  little  quiet- 
looking  house,  with  "  Les  Roses "  painted  in  small 
white  letters  on  the  black  gate. 

"  Merci,  madame,  mille  fois,  merci,"  said  the  cabby, 
as  they  paid  him.  Mrs.  Packinthorp  smiled  softly. 
The  words  pleased  her. 

The  gate  opened  with  a  gentle  click,  and  a  small 
garden  was  revealed,  shining  softly  in  the  light  that 
fell  from  the  house  beyond.  They  walked  along  a 
tiled  path  between  tiny  beds  of  violets  and  little  bare 
rose  trees,  whose  time  for  blossoming  was  over  now, 
but  to  which  the  villa  owed  its  name. 

The  front  door  stood  open,  and  a  manservant 
was  bowing  on  the  threshold  as  they  came  into  the 
light. 

He  looked  at  Mr.  Chetwynd  with  a  slight  air  of 
hesitation,  but  Mrs.  Packinthorp  murmured  softly  in 
French,  "  It's  all  right,  Friend ! " 

That  was  the  password  for  "  Les  Roses." 

Quiet,  modest,  inoffensive  little  "Les  Roses." 
In  reality  it  was  one  of  the  most  audacious  private 
gambling  clubs  in  Paris.  The  police  knew  it  well. 
It  was  not  only  there  was  no  limit  to  the  play,  but 
there  was  all  too  often  a  certain  shadiness  about  its 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  95 

gambling  transactions.  Indeed,  only  the  fact  that  it 
was  frequented  by  people  in  the  highest  society,  could 
account  for  the  way  in  which  the  guardians  of  the 
law  winked  at  its  existence. 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  and  her  companion  dined  in  a 
charming  room  with  little  tables  set  out  with  shaded 
candles  and  flowers.  Everything  was  very  quiet. 
The  dinner  was  perfect.  Very  few  people  were  about, 
but  it  was  a  little  early  yet. 

"  What  a  dream  this  man's  ices  are !  "  sighed  Mrs. 
Packinthorp  over  her  Poire  Melba. 

But  she  was  thinking  very  little  of  the  dinner.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  relieved  when  the  little 
glasses  with  their  green  chartreuse  arrived,  catching 
a  glimmer  of  the  shaded  candles,  and  the  gleam  of 
her  own  sequins  in  their  glittering  green  depths. 

All  the  afternoon  and  evening  one  thought  had 
been  steadily  growing  in  her  mind. 

All  through  the  drive  and  the  dinner  the  same 
idea  kept  recurring — "  Now  I  can  play  again  !  "  It 
beat  on  the  portals  of  her  mind  like  a  bird  at  the 
door  of  its  cage  ;  and  as  she  chattered  and  laughed 
over  the  champagne  to  her  companion,  she  vividly 
pictured  the  room  above,  with  its  tables  set  out 
for  play.  In  imagination  she  heard  the  click  of  the 
roulette,  which  sounded  in  her  ear  like  sweetest 
music. 

It  was  a  great  relief  when  Lord  Ludlaw  strolled 
across  the  room  and  began  to  talk  to  her  and  her 
companion.  She  was  dying  to  escape  now.  She 
knew  Chetwynd  would  not  play.  She  seized  the 
opportunity  to  glide  away  up  the  stairs.  As  soon  as 
she  reached  the  roulette  table  everything  was  for- 
gotten. The  hours  went  by  in  a  dream. 

Ten  !  eleven  !  twelve  1 

Three  times  Ernest  Chetwynd  came  and  asked 
if  she  was  ready  to  go. 

She  played  on  and  on.  Sometimes  she  lost,  and 
sometimes  won.  But  at  last  a  run  of  bad  luck  set 


96  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

in.     At  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  she  had  staked 
her  last  louis  and  lost. 

The  whole  ^300  was  gone. 

It  was  two  o'clock  when  she  reached  the  little 
Hotel  de  la  Ville.  Dingy  and  dim  it  looked  in  the 
flickering  light. 

The  waiter  uncurled  himself  from  his  bed  across 
the  vestibule  and  came  forward  at  her  ring. 

Late  as  it  was  he  smiled.  That  struck  her 
curiously.  She  understood  the  full  significance  of  it. 
Last  night  they  had  had  no  smiles  at  this  hotel  for 
her. 

"  Bonne  nuit,  madame,"  he  said,  handing  her  her 
candle. 

"  Bonne  nuit." 

The  words  re-echoed  through  the  darkness  of  her 
mind  as  she  dragged  herself  wearily  upstairs,  and  the 
infinite  irony  of  it  struck  her  like  a  knife.  "  Bonne 
nuit ! "  To  her !  She  who  had  had  £300  in  her 
pocket  that  very  morning  had  now  just  one  franc. 

As  she  opened  her  door  and  entered  her  room, 
there  stole  out  to  her  an  odour  of  dying  flowers  from 
the  great  bunch  of  yellow  roses  that  she  had  bought 
in  the  afternoon  and  then  tossed  carelessly  aside. 
The  air  was  full  of  their  scent.  She  went  in  and 
closed  the  door.  Everything  was  in  confusion.  Over 
the  bed  was  flung  a  gorgeous  scarlet  cloak  that  she 
had  thought  of  wearing  that  night.  Another  evening 
gown  was  lying  on  the  chair.  There  were  hats  that 
she  had  been  trying  on,  laden  with  great  feathers  and 
enormous  flowers,  some  of  them  half  in  and  half  out 
of  their  band-boxes.  The  whole  place  was  in  an 
indescribable  state  of  confusion,  and  over  it  all  was 
breathing  out  the  poignant  odour  of  the  yellow  roses 
that  lay  in  a  drooping  bunch  on  the  sofa. 

There  was  something  about  the  whole  atmosphere 
of  the  room  that  made  her  shiver.  Its  melancholy  was 
terrible.  Only  a  few  hours  ago  she  had  dressed  in 
this  room,  in  such  high  spirits,  with  hundreds  of 


THEODORA'S  HUSBAND  97 

pounds  in  her  pocket,  and  her  heart  full  of  radiant 
hope.  She  had  been  so  happy  as  she  dressed  her 
black  hair  before  the  looking-glass,  and  powdered  her 
white  face  till  it  took  on  the  unearthly  pallor  that  she 
affected. 

The  bills  were  lying  there  on  the  table  still,  and 
the  legal  documents  kept  them  company. 

And  somehow  it  had  seemed  to  her  that  all  those 
bills  were  paid.  Now  it  came  back  to  her  with 
terrible  bitterness  that  they  were  all  just  as  she  had 
left  them,  unpaid,  and  clamorous  for  payment. 

She  pressed  her  hands  to  her  temples,  and  stood, 
a  sad,  swaying  figure,  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  Three  hundred  pounds  all  gone  !  " 

She  was  too  faint  to  stand  up  and  too  excited  to 
sleep.  She  threw  herself  on  her  bed,  and  began 
thinking  feverishly.  She  must  do  something.  .  .  . 
What  could  she  do  ?  ...  Suddenly  her  mind  reverted 
to  Lady  Allingham.  .  .  .  The  hours  stole  on.  .  .  . 
Morning  broke  over  Paris,  and  Mrs.  Packinthorp  had 
made  her  decision.  There  was  nothing  else  for  it.  ... 
She  must  go  again  to  Lady  Allingham.  "And  this 
time,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  think  I  had  better  raise 
the  sum.  I  will  ask  five  hundred  pounds.  Why 
not  ?  She  will  have  to  give  it  to  me." 

After  all,  what  was  the  difference  to  Lady 
Allingham  between  three  hundred  pounds  and  five 
hundred  pounds  ?  One  was  just  the  same  as  the 
other.  Mrs.  Packinthorp's  mind  began  to  be  inflated 
with  delightful  visions.  It  seemed  to  her  that  a 
wonderful  and  inexhaustible  source  of  wealth  was 
suddenly  opening  itself  out  before  her,  and  quite 
legitimately.  Oh  quite !  Never  for  a  moment  did 
she  say  to  herself,  "  This  is  blackmail."  She  simply 
saw  the  Allinghams'  wealth  and  her  own  poverty. 
For  the  rest,  it  was  already  becoming  the  most 
natural  thing  that  her  hand  should  be  stretched  out 
towards  that  wealth,  and  what  she  wanted  should 
be  given  to  her. 

H 


93  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

At  four  o'clock  that  day  she  presented  herself  at 
the  Allinghams'  house,  and  asked  if  Lady  Allingham 
was  at  home  and  could  see  her  alone  for  five  minutes. 
She  was  taken  into  the  library.  Presently  Theodora 
came  in,  with  her  hat  and  furs  on. 

"  Ah,  how  sorry  I  am  to  disturb  you.  You  are 
just  going  out,"  murmured  Mrs.  Packinthorp.  "  Can 
you  give  me  just  three  minutes,  quite  alone  ?  " 

"  We  are  quite  alone  here,"  said  Theodora,  coldly. 

A  sudden  thought  struck  her. 

"You — you  got  the  cheque,  didn't  you  ? "  she  asked 
anxiously. 

"  Yes.  Oh  !  but,  Lady  Allingham,  such  a  terrible 
thing  has  happened — I  lost  all  that  money.  It  was 
stolen  from  me  in  a  crowd.  I  am  fearfully  hard  up — 
penniless  again,  in  fact." 

"  Penniless  ? " 

It  was  hard  to  tell  which  of  the  two  faces  was 
the  whiter,  Mrs.  Packinthorp's  or  Theodora's.  The 
younger  woman  trembled  a  little. 

"  How  dreadful !  "  she  heard  herself  exclaim. 

"  Indeed,  it  is  shocking ;  too  shocking  for  words. 
To  think  that  after  all  your  generosity  and  kindness 
such  a  horrible  thing  as  that  should  happen  to  me." 

"  Is  there  any  chance  of  recovering  it  ? "  asked 
Theodora. 

But  even  as  she  spoke,  she  felt  convinced  that  the 
question  was  vain.  She  did  not  believe  the  story ; 
that  was  the  truth  of  it.  And  she  saw  the  inevitable 
moment  coming  when  Mrs  Packinthorp  was  going  to 
ask  her  again  for  money. 

"You  were  so  kind  to  me  yesterday,"  went  on 
Mrs.  Packinthorp,  "  that  I  have  come  to  you  again 
to-day.  I  know  you  are  generous,  and  you  have  the 
luck  to  have  money.  You  will  help  me,  I  am  sure." 

They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  cannot,"  said  Theodora. 

"  But  you  must." 

"  I  am  sure  that  it  is  quite  impossible." 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  99 

"You  must." 

"  I  could  give  you  fifty  pounds,  perhaps." 

"  I  want  five  hundred." 

"  Five  hundred  !  Oh,  impossible  !  How  can  you 
ask  me  for  such  a  sum  ? " 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  want  five  hundred  pounds, 
and  I  think  I  must  have  it,  Lady  Allingham.  Five 
hundred  pounds  is  as  easy  to  you  as  fifty  pounds. 
All  you  have  to  do  is  to  ask  Sir  George,  and  he  will 
give  you  whatever  you  want." 

"  I  cannot  ask  him,"  said  poor  Theodora,  closing 
and  unclosing  her  hands. 

"Then,"  said  Mrs.  Packinthorp,  "/will  ask  him. 
Yes,  I.  How  will  that  do  ?  It  would  be  quite  easy, 
you  know.  I  could  just  go  to  him  and  say — well,  I 
should  say  several  things." 

She  looked  at  Theodora  with  a  meaning  that 
could  not  possibly  be  misunderstood. 

It  was  no  use  playing  a  half  game,  she  thought. 
This  moment  was  hers.  Lady  Allingham  was  here, 
now,  within  her  reach.  She  must  make  the  most  of 
the  chance. 

"  Of  course,  this  is  all  very  silly,"  she  said  softly. 
"  So  much  simpler  and  easier  for  you  to  send  me 
another  cheque  to-day,  and  then — that  will  end  the 
matter." 

"  How  do  you  mean,  end  the  matter  ? "  queried 
Theodora. 

"  I  mean,  my  dear,  that  I  shall  not  bother  you  any 
more,  and  that  your  mind  can  be  set  quite  at  ease." 

Theodora  was  white  to  the  lips. 

"  I  mean  that  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  everything 
shall  be  henceforth  and  for  ever  a  sealed  book.  I 
will  forget  that  I  saw  you  in  the  hotel  at  Boulogne. 
I  will  forget — you  understand  ? " 

"How  dare  you!"  blazed  Theodora.  "This  is 
infamous.  I  have  read  of  women  like  you,  but  I 
never  dreamed  that  there  were  really  such  people." 

"  And  I  will  never  mention  either,"  went  on  Mrs. 


ioo  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

Packinthorp,  "  that  I  saw  you  and  Monsieur  Fleuf  the 
other  night  as  you  came  out  of  that  gate  in  the  Rue 
Cristine.  I  quite  understand  that  it  would  be  better 
for  you  if  I  kept  silent.  You  see,  I  have  probed  Sir 
George  a  little.  That  was  not  difficult.  Quite  easily 
and  quickly  I  discovered  that  he  has  not  the  slightest 
idea  that  you  and  Monsieur  Fleur  knew  each  other — 
had  ever  met — before  your  marriage.  What  a  sur- 
prise the  truth  would  be,  would  it  not  ?  Poor  Sir 
George,  why  should  we  trouble  him  ?  I  know  I  am 
playing  the  part  of  a  horrid  wretch  at  present,  but  it 
is  simply  that  I  am  driven  beyond  myself  by  the 
pressure  of  circumstances.  Otherwise,  I  assure  you, 
this  is  the  very  last  kind  of  thing  I  would  ever  dream 
of  doing.  And  surely,  I  need  not  add,  I  don't  like 
doing  it." 

She  paused. 

"  And  now  the  cheque,"  she  said  softly.  "  This 
afternoon  or  to-morrow  morning,  if  you  will  be  so 
kind." 

"  Impossible  !     I  refuse." 

"  Very  well,  then,  as  you  please.  I  shall  tell  Sir 
George  my  story." 

"Your  story,"  blazed  Theodora.  "You  have  no 
story." 

"  Sir  George  shall  be  the  judge  of  that." 

Theodora  looked  at  her  full  in  the  eyes.  "  And 
do  you  suppose,"  she  said  slowly, "  that  my  husband 
would  listen  to  anything  you  said  against  me  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Packinthorp.  "  I 
only  know  that  I  want  five  hundred  pounds  very 
badly,  and  that  Sir  George  perhaps  would  let  me 
have  it." 

"  This  is  sheer  blackmail  1 "  cried  Theodora. 

"  Do  you  give  me  the  money,  or  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  give  yon  the  money"  said  Theodora. 

"  Good.  Then  at  the  earliest  opportunity  I  must 
see  Sir  George.  I  can't  wait,  so  it  must  be  to-night." 

"  You  may  go  and  tell  him.     I  was  a  fool  not  to 


IOI 

let  you  do  so  when  you  first  threatened.  You  may  go 
and  pour  forth  your  iniquitous  stories  into  my  hus- 
band's ears  and  learn  how  a  man  of  honour  treats 
with  women  such  as  you !  " 

"  I  see." 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  nodded  slowly. 

"  The  worm  turns,  eh  ?  "  she  said.  "  It's  very 
charming  and  heroic.  You  win  my  deepest  admira- 
tion, dear  Lady  Allingham.  The  only  thing  is — how 
are  you  going  to  account  to  George  for  the  fact  thai  you 
have  already  paid  me  three  hundred  pounds  to  keep 
silent !  " 

There  was  her  trump  card.  So  her  tone  pro- 
claimed. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  account  for  it,"  said  Theodora. 
"  It  accounts  for  itself." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  I  mean  that  it  shows  unmistakably  to  any 
reasonable  human  being  that  you  have  tried  upon  me 
a  process  of  blackmail." 

"  Blackmail !  My  dear,  what  a  word  !  It  may  be 
usual  among  foreigners,  but  really  we — well,  we  don't 
use  that  word." 

The  studied  insolence  of  her  words  was  so  artfully 
belied  by  the  honeyed  sweetness  of  her  tones,  that 
Theodora  could  scarcely  credit  her  senses  at  such 
a  phrase,  "usual  among  foreigners."  It  was  all  she 
could  do  to  sit  still  in  her  chair. 

"  Well,"  went  on  Mrs.  Packinthorp.  "  I  want  your 
ultimatum." 

"  I  have  given  it.     I  refuse." 

"  Really.  Ah,  well,  then,  I  fear  I  must  bring 
other  measures  to  bear.  For  instance,  Lady  Alling- 
ham, what  would  you  say  if  I  placed  in  Sir  George's 
hand  such  a  charming  document  as  the  follow- 
ing?" 

Opening  a  letter,  she  read  aloud,  in  a  light,  half- 
mocking  tone — 


102  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  DEAR  THEODORA, 

"...  Our  secret  shared  only  by  you  and 
me.  .  .  .  Come  by  the  private  way  as  soon  as  you 
can.  .  .  .  You  know  how  to  get  in.  .  .  .  Ivan  has 
been  taken  ill  and  may  talk.  ...  It  seems  like  a 
fever,  but  I  don't  dare  to  call  in  any  one,  as  he  is  so 
dangerous  when  he  babbles.  He  has  great  love  for 
you.  Any  moment  Sir  George  might  know.  ...  I 
want  you  to  see  what  you  think,  and  come  and  give 
me  a  helping  hand. 

"  MARCEL." 

She  paused  and  looked  up. 

"  Now  what  do  you  say  to  that  ? "  she  asked 
coolly. 

"  You  must  have  stolen  that  letter  out  of  this  room 
the  day  before  yesterday,"  breathed  Theodora.  "I 
missed  it.  I " 

"  Theodora  ! " 

Sir  George  had  opened  the  door,  and  was  stand- 
ing on  the  threshold. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IT  seemed  to  George  that  the  spectacle  presented  to 
him  as  he  came  into  the  blue  boudoir  was  the  most 
malignantly  significant  scene  he  had  ever  witnessed 
in  his  life,  blind  as  he  was  to  its  full  meaning. 

There  stood  Theodora,  pale  as  a  ghost.  She  had 
been  weeping,  but  was  now  at  a  white  heat  of  anger. 
Mrs.  Packinthorp  confronted  her,  with  a  crimson  spot 
burning  in  either  cheek,  and  black  eyes  glittering 
with  excitement  and  rage. 

The  whole  atmosphere  of  the  room  breathed  such 
a  sinister  message  of  disturbance  that  George  almost 
lost  his  self-possession.  All  its  ordinary  deep  peace 
had  fled.  These  two  beautiful  women,  in  their  alter- 
cation, had  sent  vibrating  cross-currents  through  the 
quiet  air,  till  the  very  cushions  and  curtains  and  rugs 
themselves  seemed  animated  by  some  evil  spirit  of 
unrest. 

Blind  as  George  knew  himself  to  be  to  the  real 
meaning  of  all  this,  a  sudden  strange  premonition  of 
the  vast  extent  of  his  blindness  flashed  across  him  as 
he  stood  there  on  the  threshold. 

How  much  must  have  happened  that  he  knew 
nothing  of ! 

That  was  the  thought  that  cut  its  way,  like  a 
blade,  through  the  mist  of  amaze  in  his  startled 
brain. 

What  clouds  of  deception  had  he  been  moving  in  ? 
How  was  it  that  he  had  never  dreamed  that  Theodora 
was  keeping  secrets  from  him  ?  To  what  extent  had 

103 


104  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

she  been  pretending,  while  they  lived  side  by  side, 
in  such  apparent  confidence  and  trust  ? 

"  Am  I  disturbing  you  ? "  he  managed  to  ask. 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  regained  her  self-control  in  a 
moment.  She  was  smiling  already,  perfectly  cool 
and  composed,  giving  her  nerves  their  only  relief  with 
a  little  extra  gushingness  in  her  manner  as  she  swept 
towards  him. 

"  Oh,  how  nice  to  see  you !  "  she  said,  holding  out 
her  hands.  "  Did  you  know  I  was  here  ?  Or  am  I 
expecting  too  much  in  thinking  you  came  expressly 
to  have  a  chat  with  poor  little  me  ? " 

"  I  was  looking  for  my  wife,"  said  George,  gravely. 

Theodora  was  speechless,  and  that  was  all  George 
was  noticing. 

Her  violet  eyes  were  wide  with  terror  ;  her  little 
white  hands  were  pressed  to  her  heart.  Her  breath 
came  in  a  panting  way  through  her  half-open  lips. 

"I  did  not  know  you  had  a  visitor,  Theodora,  or 
I  should  not  have  disturbed  you." 

He  looked  and  spoke  directly  to  her. 

Still  she  was  speechless. 

But  Mrs.  Packinthorp  was  equal  to  the  occasion. 

She  airily  took  up  the  tale. 

"  Oh,  but  you're  not,"  she  cried.  "Now  do  sit  down 
and  talk  for  awhile.  One  never  sees  you  nowadays." 

She  motioned  him  to  a  chair,  and  sank  back 
gracefully  on  the  deep  sofa  with  its  pile  of  pale  blue 
cushions. 

"And  you — won't  you  sit  down,  dearest  ?  " 

George  addressed  himself  again  directly  to  the 
silent,  white-faced  Theodora,  still  standing  there  with 
her  hands  pressed  to  her  heart. 

"Yes!" 

She  seemed  to  come  out  of  her  silence  by  a 
tremendous  effort,  and  seated  herself  mechanically 
on  a  little  stool. 

"That's  not  very  comfortable."  He  wheeled  a 
big  chair  towards  her. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  105 

She  stood  up,  and  he  saw  she  was  trembling. 
She  sank  into  the  chair.  As  he  bent  over  her  to 
slip  a  cushion  behind  her,  he  accidentally  touched 
her  hand,  and  found  it  cold  as  ice. 

His  keen,  masculine  brain,  awake  and  alive  at 
last  to  suspicion,  after  its  long  spell  of  security  and 
joy,  was  beating  desperately  at  the  closed  gate  between 
him  and  the  meaning  of  his  wife's  extraordinary 
agitation.  Why  was  she  white  and  trembling  like 
a  leaf?  Why  were  her  hands  ice-cold?  Why  had 
she  lost  her  very  voice  itself  at  the  sight  of  him  ? 

"We  were  having  such  a  delightful  talk,  dear 
Lady  Allingham  and  I,"  Mrs.  Packinthorp  was  saying 
complacently  from  her  nest  of  pale  blue  cushions. 
"  I  was  telling  her  of  a  wonderful  book  I  have  just 
been  reading  describing  a  woman's  travels  in  Tibet." 

"Hers  must  have  been  rather  a  ghastly  experi- 
ence," said  George,  deliberately,  "to  judge  from  the 
agitation  I  find  you  both  labouring  under." 

But  Mrs.  Packinthorp  was  quite  equal  to  that  attack. 

"  Agitation  ?  Dear  Sir  George,  what  are  you 
talking  about?  .  .  .  Ah,  you're  looking  at  Lady 
Allingham !  Yes,  she  does  look  a  little  pale.  I'm 
so  sorry.  Well  now,  I  must  confess  that  when  I  told 
her  the  story  of  the  tortures  that  poor  lady  was 
rescued  from,  it  made  us  both  feel  rather  queer." 
She  shivered  a  little. 

"  "Who  was  the  lady  ? "     George  eyed  her  fixedly. 

"A  friend  of  mine.  But  the  book  was  anony- 
mous," she  went  on,  with  that  dangerous  command 
of  details  that  makes  a  good  memory  such  a  necessity 
for  a  ready  liar.  "  It  was  published  in  Paris  by  a 
new  man — I  forget  his  name." 

"  It  seems  a  strange  book  for  two  charming  ladies 
to  be  discussing  by  a  boudoir  fire,"  said  George. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Women  are  strange  creatures.  What  appeals 
to  them  most — is  it  not  so,  Lady  Allingham? — is 
the  combination  of  terrifically  dangerous  elements 


106  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

with — pale  blue  ribbon,  shall  we  say  ?  It  is  quite 
an  exploded  old  notion  that  women  like  peace  and 
tameness.  They  don't.  Men  do.  Men  are  always 
looking  for  that  kind  of  thing  in  their  women,  while 
a  woman  is  always  more  or  less  on  the  hunt  for  a 
tiger — either  in  the  shape  of  a  man,  or  a  difficulty, 
or  an  adventure." 

She  looked  at  the  clock  and  uttered  a  little 
scream. 

"  Good  gracious  !  I  must  simply  fly.  I  have 
piles  of  work  waiting  for  me  at  home." 

George  went  with  her  to  the  door,  and,  to  his 
surprise,  she  beckoned  to  him  to  come  into  the  hall, 
and  there  whispered  to  him  that  she  had  something 
desperately  important  to  tell  him.  Could  he  come 
round  to  her  hotel  at  five  ? 

When  he  returned  he  found  Theodora  had  disap- 
peared. 

He  stood  a  moment  lost  in  thought.  He  would 
go  and  see  Mrs.  Packinthorp,  and  talk  to  her  alone  ! 
He  would  get  at  the  bottom  of  this  matter  that  was 
causing  his  wife  such  evident  distress.  After  all,  it 
was  he  who  had  introduced  Mrs.  Packinthorp  to 
Theodora.  He  was  the  responsible  one,  and  she, 
Theodora — she  was  but  a  child.  He  was  a  man  in 
his  prime.  His  duty  was  to  shield  her  in  every 
way. 

It  was  past  five  as  he  was  shown  into  the  dingy 
salon  of  the  Hotel  de  la  Ville.  An  infinitesimal  fire 
burnt  dimly.  The  light  was  poor  and  watery.  But 
George  was  blind  to  all  these  sordid  details,  and  saw 
only  that  Mrs.  Packinthorp  herself  was  looking  up 
at  him  with  welcoming  eyes  from  the  writing-desk 
across  the  room. 

"  How  charming  ! " 

She  rose  and  moved  towards  two  chairs  near  the 
fire. 

"Ah,  I  see,  you  guessed  that  something  a  little 
distressing  had  happened,  and  that  I  was  doing  my 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  107 

best  to  hide  it  to-day.  Well,  Theodora  was  entertain- 
ing me  most  charmingly,  as  usual,  when  the  subject 
turned  on  letters  or  handwritings,  or  something 
apropos  of  that  case  the  other  day — Mrs.  Dick  Wol- 
singham's,  you  know — and  I  quite  innocently  men- 
tioned the  torn  half  of  a  letter  that  a  friend  of  mine 
had  left  in  my  writing-case,  I  suppose  unintentionally, 
the  other  day,  when  he  came  to  see  me  and  begged 
to  write  a  note  before  leaving.  And  as  I  said  that, 
quite  innocently  and  without  thinking,  I  took  it  out 
of  my  purse,  where  I  had  placed  it,  knowing  that 
I  should  be  seeing  him  to-night  and  could  then 
return  it.  And  I  said  to  Lady  Allingham,  '  Well,  my 
dear,  you  say  that  hardly  two  persons  write  alike, 
yet  here  is  part  of  a  letter  written  to  a  friend  of 
mine !  Now  look  at  it,  and  admit  that  it  is  like  the 
handwriting  of  Monsieur  Marcel  Fleur.  And  yet  my 
friend  does  not  know  him  at  all !  And  I  was  just 
going  to  tell  her  who  I  thought  had  written  it,  when 
she  cried,  'That  is  mine!  How  did  you  get  it? 
How  dare  you  pry  into  my  private  concerns ! '  .  .  . 
I  realised  that  she  was  very  excited  about  some- 
thing. .  .  .  But  I  do  not  see  any  need  to  dwell  on 
that  now." 

She  paused. 

George  sat  silent. 

"  I  was  endeavouring  to  calm  her,"  she  went  on, 
"  by  taking  the  whole  affair  as  a  joke,  when  she  came 
up  to  me,  and,  seizing  me  by  the  arm,  demanded  the 
other  half  of  the  letter,  saying  that  I  had  stolen  it, 
and  that  I  knew  well  enough  it  was  from  Monsieur 
Fleur.  And,  really,  I  am  concluding  that  it  must  be 
from  him,  and  her  property,  as  she  insisted  with  such 
vehemence  on  it,  when  you  came  in  and  put  an  end 
to  the  scene.  That  is  the  whole  story.  And  here  is 
the  offending  scrap  of  paper,  at  whose  door  must 
lie  the  blame  of  this  silly  quarrel  between  Lady 
Allingham  and  myself." 

George's  eyes  were  glued  to  the  torn  sheet. 


io8  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  Rue  Vaugirard  .  .  .  Theodora  .  .  .  and  the  .  .  . 
it  is  dangerous  .  .  .  love  for  you  .  .  .  me  at  once  .  .  . 
our  secret  .  .  .  aeroplane  ruined  ...  by  the  private 
way  .  .  .  MARCEL." 

"  Dear  Sir  George,"  said  Mrs.  Packinthorp,  sym- 
pathetically, after  a  moment,  "  how  worried  you  look. 
What  is  the  matter  ?  Surely,  it  is  not  this  stupid 
letter  with  its  few  meaningless  sentences  ? " 

"You  know  that  this  is  a  letter  which  might  be 
extremely  harmful  to  my  wife,"  said  George,  sternly, 
"  were  it  to  fall  into  unscrupulous  or  curious  hands. 
Where  did  you  get  it  ?  And  where  is  the  other  half 
of  it?" 

"Dear  Sir  George,  I  forgive  you  because  I  realise 
how  fond  you  are  of  our  dearest  Theodora,"  calmly 
interrupted  Mrs.  Packinthorp.  "  But  did  I  not  know 
this,  I  should  perhaps  say  that  you  are  hardly  being 
quite  courteous  to  me.  I  have  already  told  you," 
she  added,  with  dignity,  "all  I  know  of  that  letter 
and  how  I  became  possessed  of  it.  If  you  do  not 
believe  me,  I  cannot  help  it." 

"Will  you  be  so  good,  then,  as  to  give  me  the 
other  half,  so  that  the  stupidity  of  this  torn  fragment 
may  be  removed  ? " 

"  But,  dear  Sir  George,  I  haven't  got  it ! " 

"Where  is  it,  then?" 

"My  friend  has  it.  And  he — well,  I  fear,  he 
would  want  a  price." 

Then,  as  George  looked  at  her  as  if  unable  to 
comprehend  what  she  was  saying,  she  added  sadly — 

"  There  are  men  like  that  in  the  world,  you  know, 
dear  Sir  George." 

"  And  you  call  them  your  friends ! " 

He  rose,  bowed,  and  quietly  left  the  room  without 
a  word  or  a  glance. 

"  You  shall  pay  for  that !  "  said  Mrs.  Packinthorp, 
between  her  teeth. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  same  afternoon,  while  George  was  having  his 
interview  with  Mrs.  Packinthorp,  Lady  Allingham 
had  promised  to  go  with  her  mother  to  a  smart 
matinee  which  was  to  be  given  at  the  Theatre  Sarah 
Bernhardt  in  aid  of  the  starving  poor  in  Warsaw, 
their  native  town. 

The  Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees  lay  magnificent 
and  bare  in  the  red  rays  of  the  rare  November  sun. 
As  they  passed  swiftly  along,  the  double  rows  of 
chestnut  trees  seemed  to  stand  like  silent  sentinels 
from  the  great  Arc  de  Triomphe,  their  sweeping 
lines  extending  to  meet  the  gardens  of  the  Champs 
Elyse'es,  with  their  beds  now  denuded  of  all  their 
lovely  flowers.  Their  garish  summer  music-halls, 
now  closed  and  silent,  no  longer  roused  the  echoes 
of  the  night  as  the  latest  cafe-chantant  star  sang 
her  newest  Parisian  waltz-song  to  the  crowd  within, 
while  outside,  the  penny  chairs  around  the  hall,  out- 
lining the  beds  of  summer  blooms  and  flowering 
shrubs,  were  filled  with  the  typical  Parisian  crowd 
— Madame  la  Concierge,  free  for  an  hour ;  street 
loafers,  sweepings  from  the  boulevards ;  police,  tourists, 
clerks,  smart  men  in  evening  dress  on  their  way  to 
some  party,  or  strolling  after  dinner  in  the  charming 
gardens  ;  the  young  girl  with  her  fiance  and  her 
mother  sitting  placidly  talking  with  them,  as  is  the 
custom,  discussing  future  plans  ;  in  fact,  a  typical 
little  crowd,  only  to  be  met  with  in  a  gay  city. 

The  car  glided  on,  across  the  vast  Place  de  la 
Concorde,  down  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  with  its  long 
colonnade  sheltering  the  multitudinous  shops,  some 

109 


i  io  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

full  of  priceless  wares,  others  of  worthless  postcards 
and  cheap  jewellery,  past  the  huge  Musee  du  Louvre, 
with  its  vast  storehouse  of  treasures,  on  through  the 
now  more  crowded  and  busy  street  towards  the  theatre. 

Theodora  and  the  Princess  made  their  way  through 
the  bare  entrance  hall  up  the  stairs  towards  the 
fanteuils  d? orchestre.  The  theatre,  like  most  Parisian 
theatres,  is  large,  lofty,  and  old-fashioned,  and  the 
great  actress,  from  whom  it  takes  its  name,  has  beau- 
tified it  as  no  one  else  could  do.  The  scheme  of 
decoration,  pale  blue  and  old  gold  and  tapestry,  with 
the  shaded  orange  lights,  is  delightful. 

Down  the  gangway  in  the  centre  of  the  stalls 
mother  and  daughter  swept  silently,  but  their  entrance 
nevertheless  attracted  much  attention.  Theodora,  in  a 
cream-coloured  clinging  afternoon  gown,  embroidered 
with  silver,  with  a  long  black  scarf  draping  it  from 
shoulder  to  knee,  a  daring  touch,  one  of  Worth's 
triumphs,  looked  exquisite.  Her  red-gold  hair  and 
Grecian  profile  were  shaded  by  a  huge  black  hat. 

All  heads  were  turned  in  their  direction. 

They  made  their  way  to  the  stalls  near  the  stage, 
just  in  time  to  witness  the  finish  of  an  act  from 
La  Sorctire,  with  the  incomparable  Sarah,  who  was 
giving  her  services  and  the  theatre  with  her  usual 
generosity.  The  crowded  and  delighted  house  covered 
her  with  applause,  and  then  settled  down  to  criticise 
its  neighbours  and  discuss  things  in  general,  before 
the  next  item  on  the  programme. 

Amid  the  buzz  of  conversation  and  the  flutter  of 
innumerable  programmes,  the  curtain  rose  once  more 
on  the  empty  stage  for  a  short  song  by  Brahms  by 
an  unknown  Polish  singer. 

An  almost  audible  titter  was  heard,  as  a  man, 
plain,  badly  dressed,  almost  unkempt,  crossed  the 
stage,  and  stood  waiting  awkwardly  and  nervously, 
while  the  accompanist  played  those  four  soft  chords 
which  precede  the  "  Sapphic  Ode." 

The  audience  awaited  with  curiosity  and  incredulity 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  in 

the    singing   of   this   strange   performer.      It  came 
floating  towards  them. 

"  He  has  no  voice,"  murmured  Theodora  in 
amazement. 

For  a  moment  every  one  was  astounded  at  such 
a  singer  being  allowed  to  appear.  A  shiver  of  annoy- 
ance passed  over  the  audience.  But  almost  imme- 
diately something  intensely  beautiful  and  pathetic 
came  stealing  out  of  the  singer's  tones. 

He  did  scarcely  more  than  whisper  the  lovely 
melody.  But  so  supreme  was  his  extraordinary  art 
that  the  restless  house  was  silent  in  an  instant. 

Theodora  leaned  forward  in  her  seat,  catching  her 
breath.  The  exquisite  little  verse,  so  marvellously 
treated  by  the  pure  art  of  that  unkempt  man,  was 
beautiful  beyond  description.  The  voice  ceased. 
The  accompanist  continued  the  opening  to  the 
second  verse.  An  audible  "  Bravo !  Ravissant ! "  was 
breathed  sibilantly  over  the  hall,  as  always  happens 
when  the  Parisian  public  is  really  touched.  Then 
in  breathless  silence  came  the  second  lovely  verse, 
finishing  amid  a  wild  hurricane  of  applause. 

The  Princess  turned  to  Theodora  with  a  strange, 
excited  movement. 

But  whatever  she  was  going  to  say  died  away  on 
her  lips. 

Her  daughter  was  pale  and  trembling,  and  her 
great  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"  Let  us  go,  mamma,"  she  said  feverishly. 

"Already?" 

"  There  is  nothing  more  I  want  to  hear  .  .  .  for- 
give me  ...  if  you  don't  mind,"  she  added. 

They  made  their  way  out  of  the  heated  theatre 
with  its  chattering  throng,  and  were  swiftly  driven 
back  to  the  Elysee  Palace  Hotel. 

They  were  both  silent  during  the  drive,  each 
occupied  with  her  own  thoughts. 

"Let  us  have  tea  in  the  hall,"  suggested  the 
Princess.  "  It  is  always  so  bright." 


H2  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  No,  mother,  darling,  let  us  go  up  to  your  room, 
where  we  can  be  alone,"  said  Theodora,  with  a  little 
catch  in  her  voice. 

Scarcely  had  they  entered  the  room  and  closed 
the  door  when  Theodora  broke  down  completely  and, 
sobbing,  threw  herself  into  her  mother's  arms. 

"  What  is  it,  my  darling  ?  Tell  me,"  the  Princess 
murmured  softly,  when  the  torrent  of  sobs  had 
quieted  somewhat. 

"  Oh,  mother,  I  am  so  unhappy !  " 

"  Unhappy  ?  "  she  asked  amazed. 

"  I  want  money." 

"  Money !  My  dear  ?  "  The  Princess  could  scarcely 
believe  her  ears. 

"  Yes,  and  I  must  have  it  to-day !  " 

"  But,  Theodora,  what  do  you  mean  ?  Why  ? 
What  is  it  for  ? " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you." 

"  But  why  on  earth  do  you  not  ask  George  ? 
You  know  that  you  have  only  to  say  one  word,  and 
he  will  give  you  almost  any  amount." 

Theodora  trembled.  "  Oh,  no,  no !  I  can't — I 
daren't  ask  him.  Mamma,  will  yon  lend  it  me  ?  I 
can  easily  pay  you  back  in  a  month  or  so." 

"  How  much  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Five  hundred  pounds." 

"  Five  hundred  pounds !  My  dear !  What  a 
sum!" 

"  I  must  have  it." 

Princess  Golsky  was  a  woman  of  the  world,  and 
perceived  that  this  was  no  time  for  talking  or 
reasoning,  so  without  further  question  she  replied — 

44 1  have  the  money  representing  the  sale  of  my 
small  property  in  the  bank.  It  was  sold  when  George 
so  kindly  provided  for  me.  You  are  welcome  to  it. 
It  is  only  lying  idle.  I  will  give  you  a  cheque 
now." 

11  Oh,  how  can  I  thank  you !  Mother,  darling,  you 
don't  know  how  you  have  relieved  my  mind." 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  113 

The  Princess  walked  to  the  writing-desk. 

"  To  whom  shall  I  make  it  out  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  to  bearer,  please,"  said  Theodora,  quickly. 

"  Here  it  is." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,"  cried  Theodora,  ex- 
citedly. "  I  will  send  it  off  immediately." 

She  wrote  a  few  lines,  and,  ringing,  gave  orders 
that  it  should  be  taken  by  messenger  immediately. 
She  was  excited.  Her  eyes  were  bright. 

Princess  Golsky  stood  watching  her  silently  for  a 
moment.  But  she  made  no  reference  whatever  to  the 
scene  just  past.  Instead  she  changed  the  subject 
completely. 

"  Dear  Theodora,"  she  said,  seating  herself  on  the 
big  sofa  beside  her  daughter,  and  enfolding  the  latter 
in  her  arms.  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  Monsieur 
Fleur." 

Theodora  started.  "  Yes  ? "  she  asked,  somewhat 
apprehensively. 

"  What  is  this  little  mystery  you  are  making  about 
him  ? " 

"  What  little  mystery  ? " 

"You  know,  dear,  what  I  mean.  Why  did  you 
ask  me  to  ignore  him  the  other  night  and  pretend 
that  we  had  not  met  before  ?  What  does  it  mean  ? 
Why  did  you  wish  George  to  think  that  we  were 
both  strangers  to  this  man  ?  " 

"  I  had  very  good  reasons." 

"  But  that  is  just  what  I  want  to  know,  and  it  is 
what  George  should  know  also.  This  air  of  mystery 
is  absurd." 

"  I  cannot  help  it." 

"My  darling  Theodora,"  said  her  mother,  ten- 
derly, "  I  do  not  mind  your  having  secrets  from 
me,  but  there  should  be  none  between  you  and 
George." 

"  Every  one  has  secrets,"  said  Theodora,  evasively. 

"  One  must.     No  life  can  be  lived  without." 

"  The  less  you  have  the  better.    Misunderstandings 


ii4  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

and  mysteries  and  things  hidden  away,  with  people 
who  are  living  their  lives  hand  in  hand  with  us,  can 
result  in  nothing  but  unhappiness.  Misery  !  Tragedy  ! 
Heaven  knows  what !  " 

Her  voice  broke  with  emotion. 

"I  can  say  this  to  you  because  I  know.  ...  I 
have  never  told  you  the  story.  .  .  .  Yes  .  .  .  there  is 
a  story  ...  a  sad,  sad  story.  But  never  mind  that 
now.  That  was  long  ago,  long  ago.  .  .  .  Ah,  it  all 
came  back  to  me  this  afternoon  as  I  heard  that  Krik- 
offsky  sing.  .  .  .  How  he  has  changed ! "  suddenly 
forgetting  herself  and  Theodora,  and  lapsing  into  an 
excited  reflection. 

"  Changed!  Did  you  ever  know  him  before, 
mamma  ? " 

The  Princess  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  In  Poland,"  she  added,  after  a  time  ..."  years 
ago,  if  he's  the  same  man.  But  I  thought  he  was 
dead.  .  .  .  His  appearance  to-day  on  the  platform 
was  to  me  like  a  ghost  rising  out  of  the  grave.  I 
thought  he  was  dead." 

Theodora  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  A 
strange  emotion  was  working  in  that  beautiful  pale 
face. 

"  Mamma,  you  are  upset,"  she  cried,  impulsively. 
"  It's  I !  It's  my  fault !  What  a  beast  I  am  to 
plague  you  with  my  worries  !  " 

"  No,  no  ;  it  isn't  that,"  said  the  Princess.  "  It's 
the  ghost  of  a  worry  from  long,  long  ago."  Then, 
quickly  changing  the  subject,  she  went  on :  "  You'll 
remember  what  I  said,  dearest.  You  have  no  secrets 
from  George.  You  must  not.  That  is  the  fact  of  the 
matter.  You  simply  must  not.  I  am  your  mother, 
you  see,  and  I  know  your  temperament.  It's  mine, 
too,  as  well  as  yours.  We  can't  stand  secrets,  we 
Golskys  ;  we  are  not  made  for  lies,  manoeuvring,  and 
intrigues.  You  must  tell  George !  I  don't  ask  you 
to  tell  me.  That  doesn't  matter.  Tell  me  nothing ! 
But  George  is  different." 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  115 

She  paused,  and  looked  into  Theodora's  face. 

"Tell  me,  dearest,  you — you  care  for  George  ?" 

But  she  knew  her  world  too  well  to  need  any 
answer.  One  look  into  Theodora's  eyes  was  quite 
enough  to  tell  her,  and  just  then  the  maid  came  and 
announced  that  Sir  George  Allingham  had  come  for 
Miladi,  and  was  waiting  below. 

"Remember,"  murmured  the  Princess  as  Theo- 
dora took  a  hurried  nervous  leave. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"  HAVE  you  forgotten  we  are  dining  to-night  with  the 
Duchesse  d'Ailes  ? "  asked  George. 

"To-night,  to-night."  .  .  .  Theodora  looked  dis- 
tressed. 

"  I  was  afraid  it  had  slipped  your  memory.  That 
is  why  I  came  to  you." 

"  How  dreadful  of  me  to  forget !  My  head  seems 
like  a  sieve  to-day.  I  am  idiotically  stupid.  I  even 
forgot  to  look  in  my  engagement  book." 

"You  have  had  other  things  to  think  of,"  said 
George. 

They  were  sitting  side  by  side  in  the  big  white 
car.  For  a  moment  the  traffic  had  locked  them  in 
its  embrace  and  their  progress  was  stayed.  All 
around  them  were  the  lights  of  Paris  and  its  shadows. 
Yet  it  seemed  to  Theodora  as  if  they  two  were  alone 
on  some  desert  island — she  and  George.  The  rush 
and  hurry  of  the  night  around  them  lent  the  car  and 
its  occupants  a  more  complete  isolation. 

"  There  is  always  a  lot  to  think  of,"  said  Theodora. 

She  roused  herself,  and  began  to  talk  at  random. 

"  I  do  wish  the  Due  d'Ailes  wasn't  so  vain,"  she 
said.  "He's  such  a  good  creature,  really.  But  as 
soon  as  he  talks  to  women  he  becomes  much  less 
nice." 

"  That's  interesting,"  said  George.  "  A  point  of 
view  shut  off  from  a  man." 

"  Yes !  But  to  see  the  utter  futility  of  vain  love— 
I  mean  love  of  making  conquests — you  must  see  the 

116 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  117 

man's  case  from  the  woman's  point  of  view,  and  the 
woman's  from  the  man's. 

"  To  a  woman,  nothing  on  earth  is  stranger,  sillier, 
more  inexplicable  and  incomprehensible  than  a  man 
priding  himself  on  the  thoughts  of  women  whose 
hearts  he  has  won.  I  remember  in  Italy  once,  an 
Italian  said  to  mamma  of  a  famous  Italian,  '  Every 
woman  he  loved  always  loved  him.  He  has  had 
great  success ! '  His  voice  was  full  of  nai've  envy.  I 
remember  the  feeling  his  words  gave  me.  Insuffer- 
able idea  !  Great  success !  Yet  I  believe  that  men 
find  equally  unintelligible  the  fact  that  women  are 
vain  of  men's  scalps." 

Outside  the  windows  were  the  bare,  black  trees  of 
some  gardens,  motionless  in  the  heavy  air.  In  the 
heart  of  the  great  city  they  had  some  wild  quality  as  of 
plains  and  forests.  There  was  an  atmospheric  illusion, 
too,  out  there.  Lights  were  veiled  by  mists  into  far 
distance.  .  .  .  Far  across  the  gardens  Paris  glimmered 
dimly  through  trees.  .  .  .  Theodora  thought  of  vil- 
lages, dreamy  and  remote,  seen  vaguely  across  great 
stretches  of  unknown  country  at  dusk. 

Suddenly  George  turned  to  her  and  found  her 
hand. 

"Dearest,"  he  said,  steadily,  holding  it  in  his, 
"  why  are  we  talking  like  this  ?  .  .  .  Why  am  I 
saying  things  to  you  I  don't  in  the  least  mean  ?  .  .  . 
And  you — why  are " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Theodora,  faintly. 

But  she  was  glad  her  hand  was  in  his.  They  were 
close  together  after  all.  Nightmares  had  surrounded 
her.  Half  an  hour  ago  she  was  begging  her  mother 
for  money.  Ten  minutes  ago  she  was  being  warned 
against  the  danger  of  keeping  secrets  from  George. 
And  now  she  was  here  alone  with  him.  She  sighed, 
and  slowly,  gently  let  her  head  droop  sideways  till  it 
rested  on  his  shoulder.  "  George  !  " 

Her  voice  was  struggling  for  composure. 

"Yes,    dearest.  .  .  .  Ah,   for    pity's    sake    don't 


ii8  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

hesitate.  .  .  .  Tell  me  ...  what  is  it  you  are  going 
to  tell  me,  Theodora  ?  " 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  here." 

"Are  you?" 

He  could  not  repel  that. 

But  he  wanted  so  much  more.  He  had  fancied 
she  was  going  to  speak  of  Marcel.  And  that  was 
what  his  whole  brain  and  being  demanded,  that  she 
should  broach  that  subject  to  him  now. 

It  was  dark  in  the  car,  and  he  slipped  his  arm 
around  her. 

"  You  belong  to  me,  dearest,"  he  said. 

Theodora  had  closed  her  eyes  and  was  listening 
just  to  the  sound  of  his  voice.  It  lulled  her.  There 
was  a  quality  in  it  that  thrilled  her — the  deep  male 
note  that  all  her  femininity  responded  to  sweetly. 
As  he  talked  she  said  to  herself  softly,  "  George's 
voice  ! "  Her  lips  curved.  This  was  Heaven  here  in 
the  car,  with  the  great  world  so  near  them,  yet 
removed  into  an  eternity  of  distance.  This  Paradise 
was  partly  a  dream,  and  dreamland  must  be  all  one's 
own  country. 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  and  her  demands  for  money. 
.  .  .  Marcel  and  his  grievous  trouble  over  old  Ivan's 
illness  ...  his  second  letter  in  her  pocket,  imploring 
her  to  come  and  see  what  she  could  do  ...  the 
Princess  and  her  anger  .  .  .  the  cheques  .  .  .  the  letter 
in  Mrs.  Packinthorp's  possession  ...  all  vanished.  .  . 
they  took  on  a  ghost-like  strain  ...  they  had  nothing 
to  do  with  her,  and  this. 

"  You  belong  to  me,"  George  was  saying.  "  Some- 
times I  think  you  care  almost  as  much  as  I  do  ... 
then  sometimes  I  don't  know.  .  .  .  Sometimes  I'm 
afraid.  .  .  .  You're  so  young  and  I'm  so  middle-aged. 
...  I  can't  see  how  you  really  can.  .  .  .  ' 

She  made  no  answer.  Her  eyes  were  closed. 
The  white  lids  shut  out  the  softness  in  those  violet 
depths.  She  was  very  still  there,  with  her  cheek  on 
George's  shoulder. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  119 

"  But  you  do,"  breathed  George. 

He  held  her  a  little  closer. 

"  I  know  you  do,"  he  added. 

He  turned  his  head,  and  it  seemed  as  if  her  face 
lifted  itself  a  little.  .  .  .;  Their  lips  met.  .  .  .  The 
kiss  was  long.  ...  It  wiped  out  hours  of  wretched- 
ness, and  made  the  terrible  tangle  of  life  that  we 
must  all  face  grow  clearer  and  happily  blossoming 
as  a  garden  in  spring.  With  George's  head  bent  over 
her,  his  lips  on  hers,  and  his  arm  round  her,  she  had 
her  first  clear  vision  of  the  tremendous  depth  of  love 
that  had  been  slowly  waking  in  her  heart  all  these 
months. 

George  had  fought  and  conquered  his  inclination 
to  speak  to  her  about  that  letter. 

"  All  that  I  really  care  about  in  the  world,"  said 
he,  "is  you.  But  because  I  have  got  you,  every- 
thing else  in  the  world  seems  to  have  doubled  its 
value.  It's  magic.  .  .  .  My  only  fear  is  that  I  may 
fail  in  wisdom  .  ,  .  that  I  may  not  know  quite  the 
best  thing  to  do  always  for  you.  .  .  .  You  see,  I  want 
so  to  shield  you  and  guard  you  and  give  you  the 
best  happiness  life  can  offer.  .  .  .  For  life  was  meant 
for  happiness — no  matter  what  the  poets  say — and 
the  women,"  he  added  with  a  little  laugh,  and  his 
cheek  against  hers. 

The  tall  iron  gates  swung  back  as  the  car  arrived 
at  its  destination,  and  Theodora  stepped  out  into  the 
foggy  gloom  of  the  November  evening.  She  went 
quickly  up  the  steps  into  the  brilliantly  lighted  hall, 
past  the  servants,  towards  her  boudoir.  Sir  George 
followed  more  leisurely.  Theodora  threw  her  sables 
on  to  a  chair  and  went  over  to  the  blazing  fire. 

She  was  happier  that  night  than  she  had  been  for 
days.  She  felt  once  more  her  husband's  all-powerful 
love  for  her,  and  rejoiced  in  it.  Somehow  she  felt 
no  one  could  harm  her  while  he  was  by  to  protect 
and  guard  her.  As  he  entered  the  room  she  turned 
her  head,  and  the  firelight  caught  the  delicate  profile 


120  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

and  the  glints  of  her  lovely  hair  as  she  knelt  before 
the  fire. 

"  Are  you  going  to  dress  now,  dearest  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  not  for  ten  minutes  yet,"  she  cried  brightly. 
"  Let  us  sit  by  the  fire." 

He  threw  himself  down  in  a  low-cushioned  chair 
and  leant  forward,  and  taking  her  hand  in  his,  drew 
her  gently  toward  him  until  her  head  rested  against 
his  knee. 

A  little  sigh  of  content  escaped  her. 

"  What  does  that  mean  ? "  he  asked  softly. 

"  I  am  so  happy." 

For  some  moments  they  sat  in  silence,  watching 
the  blue  and  gold  flames  curling  round  the  blazing 
logs. 

George  broke  the  silence  at  last. 

"  I  shall  be  busy  next  week." 

"  The  aeroplane  ? "  she  asked  smilingly. 

"Yes.  So  much  depends  on  these  trials,  you 
know.  It  is  anxious  work.  The  great  public  has 
its  eye  on  us  now  to  such  an  extent  that  one  feels 
the  tremendous  responsibility — almost  a  national  affair 
it  has  become." 

"  Yes,"  she  said  softly. 

"  I  am  going  up  with  Marcel  next  week,"  he  went 
on.  "  You  see,  to  place  yourself  in  the  demonstration 
is  an  experience  that  might  give  a  nervous  system  a 
severe  shock.  It  might  make  him  quite  helpless,  in 
fact.  But  I  have  no  nerves — never  had — of  that 
kind.  Too  much  mountain  climbing  all  over  the 
globe.  So  it  is  decided  I  shall  accompany  him  in 
the  aeroplane." 

"  Is  it  quite  safe  ? "  asked  Theodora,  anxiously. 

"  Quite,  of  course !  How  strange  it  all  seems, 
doesn't  it  ?  ...  Such  results  to  have  sprung  from 
so  casual  a  meeting.  Why,  think,  if  I  had  not  spoken 
in  the  train  through  sheer  boredom  to  a  dark  and 
intelligent-looking  boy  whom  chance  had  placed  near 
me,  one  of  the  greatest  inventors  the  world  has  ever 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  121 

known  would  probably  have  been  lost.  Yes,  the 
Fates  play  many  strange  pranks  with  us.  But  for 
them  I  should  never  have  opened  a  conversation  that 
day  when  we  stopped  for  so  long  at — what  was  the 
name  of  the  place- 

"  Asti,"  said  Theodora. 

The  word  slipped  from  her. 

She  bit  her  lip. 

In  a  second  she  realised  what  she  had  done ! 

"  How  did  you  know  ?  "  he  asked  in  amazement. 

"  I  suppose  you  told  me,"  she  answered,  with  an 
attempt  at  self-possession. 

"  But  I  have  never  mentioned  it !  Indeed,  I  never 
could  remember  the  name  myself — have  never  been 
able  to  recall  it.  The  results  so  far  overshadowed 
the  circumstances  that  I  had  quite  forgotten  the  stupid 
little  place ! " 

"Oh,  I  am  sure  you  must  have  told  me,"  she 
answered  vaguely.  "  I  could  not  know  otherwise. 
But  it  is  time  to  dress,"  she  cried,  jumping  up.  "  I 
must  fly." 

He  looked  at  her. 

Was  she  acting  ?  Only  one  person  could  have 
told  her  that  name  !  At  that  moment,  as  though 
summoned  there  by  George's  thought,  the  door 
opened  and  Marcel  Fleur  entered. 

Sir  George  started,  and  with  difficulty  hid  his 
annoyance  as  Theodora  went  forward  hastily  to  meet 
the  new-comer. 

"  I  thought  I  would  ask  you  to  be  so  good  as  to 
let  me  drive  to  the  Duke's  with  you  to-night,"  said 
Marcel ;  "  but  I  am  early,  I  see." 

He  was  excited,  face  pale,  eyes  burning. 

"  Yes,  we  are  just  going  to  dress.  Well,  I  must 
be  off,  Theodora,"  said  George,  hardly  looking  at  them 
as  he  left  the  room. 

"  I  will  wait,  if  I  may,"  said  Marcel,  looking  at 
Theodora  steadily. 

•'  Do " 


122  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

The  door  closed  on  Sir  George. 

Marcel's  dark  face  underwent  a  sudden  trans- 
formation. Anxiety,  fear,  anger,  passion,  chased 
themselves  over  his  features.  His  narrow,  gleaming 
eyes  fixed  her  in  a  relentless  stare. 

"You  must  come,"  he  cried,  quivering  with  sup- 
pressed passion.  "  Only  you  can  calm  him.  Ivan  is 
worse  !  I  am  ruined  if  he  dies.  Mon  Dieu  !  But 
I  am  ruined  even  while  he  lives.  He  will  not 
speak,  and  when  he  does  he  cries  our  secret  aloud 
to  the  world,  and  laughs  in  his  delirium.  Sacre 
bleu,  let  him  die!"  he  almost  screamed,  "so  long  as 
for  a  few  short  hours  he  may  recover  consciousness 
and  save  me.  These  trials  which  come  on  next 
week  ..." 

He  grasped  her  wrist,  his  strong  fingers  bruising 
the  delicate  skin. 

"  I  cannot  direct  them  alone.  Only  he  can  manage 
all  the  details !  Come.  You  must,  you  shall !  "  he 
cried,  dragging  her  towards  the  door,  his  voice 
suffocated  with  emotion  and  rage. 

"  You  are  mad  ! "  she  said. 

She  wrenched  her  arm  free.  Her  presence  of  mind 
did  not  desert  her. 

"  You  are  mad,"  she  repeated  quietly  and  firmly, 
looking  at  him.  "You  know  I  cannot  do  so 
now." 

"  You "  he  burst  forth,  furiously. 

She  held  up  her  hand  imperiously. 

"Be  silent,"  she  said,  "and  listen.  I  cannot  go 
with  you  now.  What  do  you  think  ?  You  must  be 
stark,  staring  mad.  If  I  did,  George  would  be  certain 
to  follow.  Surely  you  see  that.  Of  course  he  would. 
Come  ...  be  calm  ...  be  reasonable." 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  arm  to  soothe  him.  He 
stared  at  her.  She  hardly  knew  if  he  understood 
what  she  was  saying,  so  wild  were  his  eyes. 

"  Help  me,"  he  said  piteously. 

"  Yes,  yes.     I  am  going  to  help  you.  .  .  ." 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  123 

"  Then  you  will  come  ? " 

"Yes,  I  will  come.  To-night  is  impossible,  but 
to-morrow." 

She  wrenched  herself  away  at  last  and  flew  upstairs 
to  dress.  It  was  very  late.  Her  maid  was  waiting. 
A  long  black  empire  evening  garment  was  lying 
ready  on  the  bed,  with  little  black  satin  shoes  near 
it.  But,  late  as  it  was,  she  merely  looked  into  her 
room,  stared  at  the  things,  and  disappeared. 

"What  on  earth  has  happened  to  madame  ?"  said 
the  maid,  overcome  with  fear  that  madame  would  be 
very,  very  late  for  this  dinner  to-night  if  she  did  not 
begin  her  preparations  soon. 

Theodora  had  gone  in  search  of  George.  She  did 
not  mean  to.  She  had  every  intention  of  dressing. 
She  knew  she  was  late. 

But  something  stronger  than  herself  was  dragging 
her  to  her  husband. 

She  knocked  at  his  dressing-room  door. 

"  It's  I,  Theodora  !     Can  I  come  in  ? " 

She  saw  at  once  that  a  change  had  come  over 
him.  His  face  was  different  ;  he  scarcely  looked  like 
the  same  man.  It  was  hard  and  cold,  and  the  kind- 
ness in  the  steel-grey  eyes  had  receded  into  an 
infinite  distance  or  disappeared  altogether. 

"  Do  you  want  me  ?  "  he  asked  quietly. 

And  then  she  realised  that  she  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  what  she  had  come  for. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  stupidly. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes." 

She  was  afraid  of  him.  This  George  was  some 
one  she  had  never  met  before. 

But,  after  all,  he  was  George  ;  and  only  half  an 
hour  ago  they  had  been  together  in  the  wonderful 
isolation  of  the  big  white  car,  with  the  gleaming 
lights  of  Paris  round  them,  and  the  crowds  outside, 
and  the  black  trees  ;  and  his  arm  had  held  her,  and 
his  voice  had  whispered  the  things  that  she  must 


124  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

remember  .  .  .  now  at  this  moment  she  must  recall 
them  ;  she  must  not  be  afraid. 

"  I  came  to  ask  you  not  to  be  angry  with  me," 
she  said  childishly. 

"  Why  should  I  be  angry  with  you  ? "  said  George. 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Are  there  reasons  ?  "  said  George.  "  What  have 
you  been  doing  that  you  should  think  I  could  be 
angry  ? " 

"  I  thought  you  were  angry  because  Marcel  had 
come." 

"  Marcel !  When  did  you  learn  to  call  him 
Marcel  ?  "  he  said  quietly. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MRS.  PACKINTHORP  had  left  Monte  Carlo  the 
preceding  day,  and  had  just  arrived  in  Paris,  en  route 
for  London.  But  the  journey,  she  had  decided, 
would  be  delightful  if  she  broke  it  by  staying  the 
night  in  Paris,  and,  according  to  her  usual  custom 
when  she  had  money,  she  was  thoroughly  enjoying 
herself.  Five  thousand  pounds  all  made  at  the 
tables  !  No  longer  need  she  cudgel  her  brains  to  get 
money  ;  perhaps  never  again,  in  fact.  This  sum 
could  do  so  much,  and  she  meant  that  it  should. 

In  her  smart  dark-blue  cloth  tailor-made  travelling 
costume,  fitting  her  to  perfection,  she  was  a  notice- 
able figure  as  she  slowly  walked  down  the  street, 
revelling  in  the  store  of  beautiful  and  expensive 
things  always  to  be  seen  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix.  It 
was  so  delightful  to  feel  that  she  could  go  into  any 
shop  and  buy  almost  anything. 

A  gold  pencil-case,  the  ends  studded  with 
diamonds  and  emeralds,  caught  her  eye,  and  she 
walked  into  the  shop  and  secured  the  exquisite  little 
toy,  and  then  proceeded  in  a  cab  to  the  office  of 
a  fashionable  paper  for  which  she  was  writing. 

The  lady  editor  welcomed  her  with  open  arms, 
for  she  knew  the  value  of  this  clever  woman,  with  her 
exquisite  clothes,  her  strange,  fascinating  personality, 
and  her  handsome  pale  face.  Mrs.^Packinthorp  had 
reasons  of  her  own  for  keeping  in  with  Mme.  de 
Villiers,  and  was  particularly  charming  to  her,  insisting 
on  her  accepting  her  invitation  to  lunch  then  and 

125 


126  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

there,  and  presenting  her  with  the  little  gold  pencil- 
case. 

"But  I  am  in  such  a  hurry,"  exclaimed  Mme. 
de  Villiers,  with  a  charming  little  French  gesture  ; 
"  I  have  only  a  —  how  do  you  say  it  ?  —  a  demi- 
henre  !  " 

"  Never  mind.  We  will  go  somewhere  quite  near, 
and  will  be  very  quick.  You  must  eat,  you  poor 
thing,"  said  Mrs.  Packinthorp,  gaily.  "Let  us  go 
into  that  corner  restaurant  near  the  Vaudeville." 

She  had  her  way,  and  together  they  had  one  of 
those  delicious  little  lunches  which  almost  any  French 
restaurant  seems  able  to  conjure  up  to  fit  one's  mood 
at  a  moment's  notice. 

"  You  often  see  Sir  George  and  Lady  Allingham, 
then  ?  "  asked  the  Frenchwoman,  with  interest. 
"Then  can  you  not  write  me  something  in  your 
charming  style  about  them  ?  On  parle  beaucoup 
d'eux  d  ce  moment-ci"  she  said,  breaking  into  her 
own  language.  "  But  they  are  so  interesting.  The 
aeroplane,  Sir  George,  and  the  beautiful  Lady 
Allingham.  Anything  will  do.  Do  get  me  some 
photographs,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  the 
perfectly  fitting  sleeve  of  Mrs.  Packinthorp's  gown. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  can  manage  it,"  replied  Mrs, 
Packinthorp. 

"  Ah !  Cest  cJiarmant !  "  cried  Mme.  de  Villiers, 
enthusiastically. 

They  separated.  Mrs.  Packinthorp  was  soon 
skimming  in  a  taxi  through  the  long  beautiful 
avenue  of  trees  which  line  the  banks  of  the  Seine, 
towards  her  friends'  flat.  Her  visit  was  unsuccessful, 
but  she  did  not  mind.  She  determined  to  take  the 
Mdtro.  back  into  town  and  go  early  up  to  the  station. 
There  was  not  much  time,  anyway.  She  walked 
down  the  steps  to  the  station,  bought  her  25-centime 
first-class  ticket,  and  stood  watching  the  train  cross 
the  bridge  and  come  thundering  between  the  tall 
houses  into  the  station,  whence  it  would  go  on  its 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  127 

mysterious  underground  way  through  this  Paris  which 
clattered  and  rushed  above  it. 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  stepped  briskly  in,  as  the  smart 
little  conductor  threw  the  doors  open  with  an  un- 
intelligible yell  which  only  dimly  recalled  the  name 
of  the  station.  The  long  car,  with  its  bright  and  shiny 
brass  and  wood  and  its  warm-coloured  red  leather 
covers,  looked  curiously  chic  and  Parisian.  The 
touch  of  art  nouveau  in  the  panelling,  which  the 
French  seem  unable  to  resist — its  dubious  charms 
fascinating  even  the  railway  -  carriage  designers — 
added  to  the  effect. 

As  she  entered  some  one  bowed  to  her  at  the  other 
end  of  the  carriage,  and  there  was  Mme.  de  Villiers ! 

At  the  same  moment  she  saw,  to  her  surprise, 
Sir  George  Allingham,  seated  alone  in  one  of  the 
little  high-backed  four-seated  divisions. 

He  looked  at  her. 

Their  eyes  met. 

Not  the  slightest  sign  of  recognition  came  into 
his  face. 

In  a  flash  she  understood  the  meaning  of  his 
manner.  He  had  cut  her. 

She  rose  to  the  situation.  Mme.  de  Villiers  was 
watching  from  down  the  car.  There  was  no  time 
to  lose.  With  a  delighted  smile  she  glided  into  the 
seat  beside  Sir  George. 

"  Sir  George,  how  charming ! "  she  cried  with  a 
little  air  of  affected  surprise. 

George  neither  moved  nor  spoke. 

She  leaned  forward  and  began  to  speak  im- 
mediately. Any  moment  someone  might  sit  next 
them,  or  George  might  leave  the  train,  and  her 
opportunity  would  be  gone.  But  for  the  next  few 
moments  he  was  at  her  mercy. 

"  I  have  been  so  wanting  to  see  you,"  she  said, 
"  it  was  so  unfortunate  about  that  wretched  letter  the 
other  day,  but  I  can  still  hope  to  get  it.  Indeed,  I 
am  certain  that  I  can." 


128  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

She  spoke  rapidly  and  quietly,  turning  her  head 
towards  him,  and  making  her  voice  carry  through  all 
the  rattle  of  the  train  as  it  swayed  down  the  lighted 
tunnel  and  screamed  its  way  along. 

"You  see,  I  had  no  idea  then  that  it  was  so 
important.  .  .  . 

"  Of  course  I  should  have  suspected  there  was 
something  when  I  saw  Lady  Allingham  calling 
on  Monsieur  Fleur  at  his  hotel  one  night  in  Boulogne. 
But  how  could  I  know  that  she  was  at  one  time 
engaged  to  him,  and  that  probably  this  letter  was 
years  old  ! " 

George,  hemmed  in  at  her  side,  was  absolutely 
expressionless. 

"  Of  course,  that  explains  everything,  and  how 
stupid  I  have  been !  But  you  mustn't  really  blame 
poor  me  quite  so  much,  dear  Sir  George,  for  the 
absolutely  innocent  part  I  played  in  this  little 
comedy,  which  I  see  is  ending  up  quite  happily. 
After  all,  are  you  not  the  lucky  man  who  won  the 
fair  lady  eventually?  How  fortunate  that  things 
turned  out  so  beautifully !  Dear  Lady  Allingham, 
with  her  delicate  artistic  tastes,  could  never  have 
been  really  happy  with  Monsieur  Fleur,  gifted  though 
he  undoubtedly  is.  But  without  a  sou  at  that  time. 
Whereas  you !  " 

She  paused. 

Then  she  added  with  an  air  of  charming  sincerity. 
"  You  had  everything.  There  was  nothing  you  could 
not  give  her.  Love,  happiness,  and  wealth.  What 
a  delightful  picture  !  I  know  Lady  Allingham  is  like 
me  in  many  ways.  She  loves  comfort  and  luxury, 
and  to  be  surrounded  with  beautiful  things.  To 
some  women  that  is  more  than  half  life,  almost  more 
than  love.  And  who  shall  say  that  they  are  not  right  ? 
Not  that  I  mean  to  infer  that  of  Lady  Allingham. 
She  adores  you.  Her  devotion  is  perfectly  sweet. 
Ah,  here  is  my  station,"  she  said,  rising  quickly  as 
the  train  stopped  with  a  jerk  at  the  Place  d'Alma. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

"  RIDICULOUS  !  Absurd  !  All  lies !  "  George  kept 
saying  to  himself  as  he  made  his  way  home.  And 
then  he  would  hear  Mrs.  Packinthorp's  voice  .  .  . 
"  at  his  hotel  at  Boulogne  "  ..."  of  course  he  had 
not  a  sou  "  ..."  I  did  not  know  they  were  engaged  " 
.  .  .  and  so  on.  Every  word  seemed  alive.  Try  as 
he  would  he  could  not  get  away  from  them.  And  he 
knew  that  at  last  he  had  arrived  at  a  climax  of  some 
kind  or  other. 

He  went  straight  into  the  blue  boudoir,  and  found 
Theodora  there  alone,  reading  by  the  fire. 

"  I  have  just  come  in,"  she  said,  looking  up.  But 
whatever  else  she  was  about  to  say  was  frozen  on  her 
lips.  Something  in  George's  face  arrested  her  first, 
then  terrified  her. 

"  Theodora,  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  he  said.  His 
face  was  white,  and  his  mouth  had  taken  the  set  line 
that  she  knew  herself  to  be  afraid  of. 

He  seated  himself  beside  her  on  the  sofa  and 
looked  straight  into  her  eyes.  She  could  not  meet 
his  gaze.  Her  eyelids  fell. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  look  at  me ! "  said  George. 
"  Don't  look  down.  Look  straight  at  me.  Why  should 
you  hide  your  eyes  ?  What  have  you  got  to  be  afraid 
of  from  me  ?  " 

His  voice  was  almost  rough.  An  unpleasant 
experience  it  was  to  Theodora  to  know  that  voice 
could  change  so,  and  the  fact  that  thousands  of  women 
through  all  time  had  had  the  same  unpleasant  sur- 
prise with  their  dear  ones,  held  no  alleviation.  She 

129  K 


130  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

was  frightened.  She  dared  not  look  away,  but  her  lips 
quivered,  and  her  hands  clasped  themselves  in  her  lap. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  she  said. 

"That  is  what  I  want  to  know,"  said  George, 
"  and  what  I  think  you  ought  to  let  me  know." 

His  steel-grey  eyes  held  hers  cruelly  hard,  she 
thought. 

"  Are  you  keeping  secrets  from  me  ? "  he  asked. 
"  No,  no !  Don't  look  away !  Look  at  me." 

"  I  am  not  a  child  to  be  spoken  to  like  that," 
flashed  Theodora. 

"  Are  you  not  ?  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  It  is  not 
a  particularly  pleasant  thing  to  find  childishness  the 
characteristic  note  in  one's  wife.'* 

"  George ! "  Her  voice  broke.  "  How  can  you 
speak  to  me  like  that  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  upset  .  .  .  that's  why.  I  scarcely 
know  where  I  am." 

"  Tell  me  what  has  happened." 

"  I'll  begin  at  the  end.  The  beginning's  too 
unpleasant.  Were  you  ever  engaged  to  Marcel 
Fleur?" 

He  knew  the  truth  at  once. 

It  was  written  as  plainly  in  her  face  as  if  she  had 
answered  "  Yes."  She  stared  at  him  without  speaking, 
seeming  incapable  of  making  any  reply. 

"  So  it  is  true,"  said  George,  in  a  low  voice. 

He  looked  at  her,  scarcely  comprehending  that  he 
had  so  easily  come  upon  the  truth. 

"  I  told  you  in  Venice  ...  I  had  a  secret  .  .  . 
and  that  I  couldn't  tell  you,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  Why  couldn't  you  tell  me  ? " 

No  answer. 

"  Why  should  you  have  kept  a  secret  from  me  ? 
Were  you  ashamed  of  it  ?  Where  were  you  engaged 
to  him,  and  when  ?  How  on  earth  did  it  happen  ? 
Where  on  earth  did  you  meet  ?  Why  on  earth  was 
it  broken  off?" 

"  It  was  long  ago,"  muttered  poor  Theodora.    She 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  131 

was  trying  vainly  to  control  herself.  She  made  a 
desperate  effort  to  find  words.  A  careful  speech  and 
delicate  handling  were  absolutely  necessary  at  this 
moment.  And  here  she  was  speechless,  her  brain  in 
a  whirl.  All  her  thoughts  were  flying  in  disorder 
before  George's  expression. 

She  half  rose  from  the  sofa,  but  George  im- 
mediately leaned  towards  her,  and,  catching  her  arm, 
pressed  her  gently  back  to  her  seat. 

"  Don't  move.  Can't  you  see  you'll  drive  me  mad 
if  you  get  up  and  walk  away  just  now  ? " 

"  I  am  hot  ...  I  want  a  fan." 

He  reached  over  and  gave  her  one  that  was 
lying  on  top  of  her  little  galleried  table  of  inlaid 
marquetry. 

"  Now  let  us  get  at  the  bottom  of  this.  No  more 
evasions,  and  secrets,  and  mysteries.  I  am  the  wrong 
kind  of  man  to  be  treated  to  that  sort  of  thing.  And 
I  thought — well — I  thought  you  were  the  wrong  kind 
of  woman.  But  tell  me  the  whole  story." 

The  whole  story ! 

She  looked  at  him  piteously.  "  I  don't  know  what 
to  tell  you." 

"  Tell  me  the  whole  story  of  your  engagement  to 
Marcel  Fleur." 

It  seemed  to  George  that  he  was  doing  an  in- 
credible thing  in  putting  together  such  words  as  those 
— "  Your — engagement — to — Marcel — Fleur  !  "  As 
they  issued  from  his  lips  he  was  struck  with  a  sharp 
sense  of  unreality  that  began  with  the  words  and 
rushed  onwards  till  it  attacked  himself,  and  Theodora, 
and  the  blue  boudoir,  and  sucked  the  life  out  of  them, 
and  turned  them  all  into  shadows.  How  could  this 
shadowy  girl-woman,  here  by  the  boudoir  fire,  ever 
have  loved  any  one  so  far  out  of  the  picture  as 
Marcel  Fleur?  It  seemed  impossible.  For  Marcel 
was  no  shadow.  He  had  remained  outside  the  pro- 
cess. George  saw  him  as  alive  and  dangerous,  press- 
ing his  vitality  painfully  on  his  kind.  He  was  the 


1 32  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

only  unmistakably  real  thing  that  George's  mind  was 
capable  of  focusing  just  then. 

"  When  was  it  ?  Where  was  it  ?  Come,  Theo- 
dora !  .  .  .  You  must  see  now  that  the  time  has 
arrived  when  the  fool  must  play  his  part.  I'm  the 
fool !  Let  me  have  my  cue." 

"  We  were  engaged — in  a  sort  of  a  way — yes — it's 
quite  true." 

For  a  moment  George  nearly  gave  way  to  his 
desire  to  cry  out :  "  Tell  me  no  more.  I  can't  bear  it." 

"  Go  on,"  he  said  quietly. 

"It  was  before  you  knew  me.  It  was  all  over. 
We  parted  ...  we  said  good-bye.  .  .  ." 

"  Why  did  you  say  good-bye  ? " 

"He  was  so  poor 

"  You  gave  him  up,  then,  because  he  was  poor  ? " 

"  That  is  not  true." 

"  What  is  the  truth  ?  Why  did  you  give  him 
up?" 

"  I  didn't.     It  was  he  who  gave  me  up." 

"  Why  did  he  give  you  up  ? " 

' '  Because  he  was  so  poor." 

"Was  that  a  reason,  then,  between  two  who 
loved?" 

"  It  was — to  him." 

"  And  not  to  you  ? " 

"No  ...  not  to  me." 

"  Then  you  wished  not  to  give  him  up  ? " 

She  made  no  answer. 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  answer  me,"  said  George. 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  give  him  up." 

He  took  a  cigarette  from  his  case  and  lit  it.  It 
went  out,  and  he  did  not  notice.  "He  insisted.  He 
gave  you  up.  What  then  ? " 

"  He  went  away." 

"  What  did  you  do  ? " 

"I — I — did  nothing."  The  fan  had  fallen  into 
her  lap.  She  was  cold  now.  Was  he  going  to  con- 
tinue this  examination  on  and  on  ...  till  he  reached 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  133 

his  own  entrance  into  the  story  ?  .  .  .  On  and  on  ... 
till  he  came  to  that  day  at  Boulogne  ? 

'  You  met  no  more  ? " 

'No." 

'  When  did  you  see  him  next  ? " 

'  A  long  time  after,"  she  answered  low. 

'  Before  your  marriage  ? " 

'Yes." 

'Where?" 

'In  France." 

'  Was  it  in  Boulogne  ? " 
-       'Yes." 

'Did  you  go  to  see  him  at  the  Hotel  de  1'Uni- 
vers  ? "  The  appalling  cruelty  of  the  question  struck 
him  the  instant  he  had  asked  it.  It  was  too  poisoned, 
too  pointed,  too  direct.  He  would  have  drawn  the 
arrow  back.  But  it  had  gone.  He  watched  it.  He 
was  perfectly  calm.  He  saw  it  wing  across  to  Theo- 
dora and  strike  her  straight  in  the  heart.  It  was 
simply  impossible  for  him  to  look  at  her  at  that 
moment. 

"Yes.  It  is  quite  true  that  I  went  to  see  him 
at  his  hotel." 

He  was  astounded  to  find  that  she  was  capable  of 
speech. 

"  I  do  not  like  the  way  you  are  speaking  to  me," 
she  said  in  a  changed  tone.  "  It  is  quite  true  that  I 
went  to  see  Marcel  Fleur  at  his  hotel.  But  that  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  speak  to  me  in  such  a  tone  as 
you  allowed  yourself  to  use  just  now." 

"  Good   Heavens  !     Do  you  consider  this  a  time 
for  tones !     I  am  asking  you  questions  of  the  most 
vital  importance  to  me.     I  can't  think  about  the  tone 
of  my  voice." 
"  I  must  ask  you  to  do  so,"  said  Theodora. 

She  knew  no  more,  now,  whether  she  was  hot  or 
cold.  She  was  as  unconscious  of  it  as  George  of  his 
gone-out  cigarette. 

"  Who  has  been  telling  you  this  ? "  she  asked. 


134  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  That  really  is  beside  the  matter,"  said  George. 
"  It  is  ourselves  we  are  concerned  with." 

"  And  you  let  them  !  You  listened !  "  she  said 
vehemently.  "  Oh,  I  never  dreamed  that  you  could 
do  such  a  thing  as  that ! "  The  scorn  in  her  voice 
and  eyes  filled  George  with  amazement.  "  I  would 
have  died  rather  than  have  listened  to  anything  any- 
one said  of  you!"  she  went  on.  "If  they  had  told 
me  the  most  dreadful  stories,  the  most  awful  things 
about  you,  I  would  not  have  listened.  I  would 
have" — she  could  scarcely  speak  in  her  agitation — 
"  I  would  have  killed  them,"  she  burst  out,  clenching 
her  little  white  hands,  while  her  face,  with  all  the 
terror  gone  out  of  it  now,  stared  proudly  into  his. 
"Yes,  I  would  have  killed  anyone  who  dragged  up 
things  out  of  your  past  and  came  to  me  with  them. 
But  nobody  would!  People  know  better  than  to 
come  to  women  when  they  have  got  cruel  stories  to 
tell.  It's  men  they  go  to  always — men.  Men  are  so 
ready  to  listen,  I  suppose.  Even  you — you  listened." 

"  I  had  to  listen  ! " 

George  had  a  vision  of  himself  and  Mrs.  Packin- 
thorp  in  the  Metro.  Never  had  a  man  been  so  at  the 
mercy  of  a  scandal-maker  as  he,  hemmed  in  there  by 
that  woman ! 

"  No,  no  !  There's  no  such  thing  as  '  had  to ' ! 
Wherever  you  were  you  could  have  gone  away,  or 
if  you  couldn't  have  moved  you  could  have  put  your 
fingers  in  your  ears  and  shouted  at  the  top  of  your 
voice  so  that  you  could  not  hear.  And  if  they 
dragged  your  hands  down  from  your  ears  you  could 
have  got  them  by  the  throat  and  choked  them." 

The  attack  had  completely  changed.  The  invader 
was  now  the  invaded.  It  was  George  who  defended 
himself. 

"  I  did  more  than  listen,"  he  said  angrily ;  "  I 
read." 

Theodora  laughed.  "  They  always  read ! "  she 
tossed  out  scornfully.  "When  they  can't  read  any- 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  135 

thing  else  they  read  letters.  I  would  rather  die  than 
read  a  letter  that  wasn't  meant  for  me." 

"  So  you  admit  then  that  that  letter  was  for  you  ?" 

"  What  letter  ? " 

"The  torn  letter  in  which  M.  Fleur  invited  you 
to  come  and  see  him,  and  spoke  of  some  secret  you 
shared  in  common." 

As  George  said  the  word  "  torn  "  it  flashed  across 
Theodora  that,  although  he  had  read  the  letter — as 
she  had  already  guessed — he  had  not  read  it  all,  and 
he  had  not  discovered  what  the  secret  was.  It  showed 
to  what  a  tremendous  extent  her  loyalty  was  involved 
that  she  could  feel  glad  even  now,  at  this  tense  and 
critical  moment,  that  the  secret  of  the  aeroplane  and 
its  inventors  was  still  preserved. 

"What  else  did  your  informers  tell  you?"  she 
asked  bitterly. 

"  I  come  to  you  for  information,"  said  George, 
steadily.  "  Heroics  are  out  of  the  question  here.  We 
have  got  to  tell  each  other  the  truth.  I  should  like 
to  know  why  you  met  M.  Fleur  again  in  Boulogne. 
Did  you  ask  him  to  come  ? " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  Was  it  before  or  after  you  were  engaged  to  me 
that  he  came  ?  " 

"After." 

"  Then  it  was  after  you  were  engaged  to  me  that 
you  went  to  see  him  at  his  hotel  ? " 

"  Yes,  it  was  after." 

"  How  soon  after  ?  "  said  George,  doggedly. 

She  could  have  answered,  "  I  don't  remember," 
but  she  would  not.  Some  sharp  emotion  had  been 
roused  in  her.  It  was  half-anger,  half  a  sense  of 
being  injured.  The  whole  result  was  an  immense 
longing  for  just  the  plain  truth. 

"If  you  want  to  know  exactly  when  it  was,  it  was 
the  night  after — after — the  Ramparts." 

"  But  I  came  to  see  you  that  night." 

"  I  know." 


136  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"Then  it  was  before  I  arrived.  I  remember,  it 
was  about  nine  o'clock  when  I  got  to  the  Pension 
DucreV' 

"  Yes  ;  it  was  just  before  you  came.  I  had  just 
been  and  come  back." 

"  Why  had  you  gone  ?  "  asked  George. 

"To  see  Marcel.  But  why  should  I  explain  to 
you  ? "  she  burst  out.  "  He  wasn't  there.  I  didn't 
see  him.  That's  all  that  matters." 

She  could  have  no  idea  from  George's  face  what 
it  meant  to  him  when  she  said  angrily,  "  He  was  not 
there  ;  I  did  not  see  him." 

Everything  was  returning  to  him  now  ...  he  saw 
her  coming  towards  him  down  the  blue-lit  garden  of 
the  Pension  .  .  .  she  rushed  towards  him  .  .  .  she 
threw  herself  into  his  arms  ...  "I  should  have  died 
if  you  hadn't  come."  .  .  .  And  then  ..."  Marry  me 
soon  and  take  me  away  from  all  this." 

So  it  was  grief  that  had  sent  her  into  his  arms. 
Marcel  had  gone.  She  was  heart-broken.  .  .  .  He 
pieced  that  much  of  the  story  together. 

"  Please  tell  me,  why  did  he  come  to  Boulogne  ? " 

"  To  see  me." 

"  Then  why  did  he  go  away  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  Did  you  send  him  away  ? " 

No  answer. 

"  If  you  did  not  send  him  away,  why  did  he  go  ? " 

And  quickly  on  top  of  that  he  asked  the  supreme 
question  :  "  Why  did  you  not  send  him  away  ? " 

"  I  couldn't,"  said  Theodora. 

Let  the  truth  come  now.  She  was  not  going  to 
lift  her  little  finger  to  delay  it.  The  sooner  George 
knew  all,  the  better.  The  Princess  had  said,  "  Tell 
George  all ! "  How  little  she  had  dreamed  of  the 
manner  in  which  George  would  drag  the  truth  from 
her !  How  far  she  was  from  realising  that  such  a 
scene  as  this  could  be  enacted  between  these  two 
people  who  she  believed  loved  each  other ! 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  137 

"  I  couldn't  send  him  away  because  I  wanted  him 
to  stay." 

"  You  mean  you  cared  for  him  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Not  for  me  ?  " 

Poor  George !  His  forty  years  fell  off  him  and 
left  him  pitiful  as  a  little  child. 

"  George,  this  is  impossible  ! "  cried  Theodora, 
suddenly.  "  You  must  ask  nothing  more.  I  won't — I 
can't — answer.  We're  torturing  each  other  to  death." 

"Answer  me  one  thing.  Did  you,  or  did  you 
not,  care  a  hang  about  me  when  you  married  me  ?  " 

Oh,  how  glad  she  was  that  he  put  it  like  that! 
Of  course,  she  had  "cared  a  hang."  There  was  her 
loophole,  and  she  rushed  at  it. 

"  I  should  not  have  married  you  if  I  had  not." 

"Would  you  have  married  me  if  I  had  been 
without  a  sou  ? " 

No  man  asks  that  question  unless  he  is  quite 
certain  of  the  answer.  Before  he  puts  it  he  knows 
definitely  that  the  reply  is  yes,  or  no,  as  the  case 
may  be.  He  goes  not  out  into  the  slippery  dark 
with  a  problem  like  that  in  his  brain,  and  it  is  all 
decided  before  he  speaks.  The  sharp  edge  must 
be  gone  before  he  ventures.  And  George  was  no 
exception.  He  knew  the  answer  while  he  asked  the 
question. 

"I  am  sorry  you  asked  me  ...  I'm  not  going 
to  lie  ...  I  did  think  about  money  ...  I  did  think 
about  your  money  ...  we  were  poor,  mamma  and 
I  ...  you  were  rich  .  .  ." 

She  could  not  get  on.  A  tremendous  wave  of 
feeling,  the  deepest  she  had  ever  known  in  all  her 
life,  broke  over  her  suddenly,  and  she  rushed  to 
George  and  flung  her  arms  round  him. 

"  George,  George  .  .  .  don't  look  like  that !  That 
was  all  long  ago.  And  I  love  you  now  ...  oh,  I 
love  you  dearly  now,  George  .  .  .  don't  you  know  it  ? " 

"  Who  knows  anything?"  George  answered  coldly, 
not  touching  her. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

IT  was  long  past  midnight,  and  George  and  Theodora 
had  just  come  in  from  a  reception  at  the  Embassy. 
The  Princess,  who  was  staying  a  few  days  with  her 
daughter,  had  driven  home  with  them,  so  the  em- 
barrassment of  a  tete-d-tete  had  been  avoided,  but 
she  had  gone  straight  to  her  own  rooms  on  entering 
the  house,  pleading  her  great  fatigue  and  asking  to 
be  excused  from  joining  them  by  the  fire  in  the 
library,  where  their  custom  was  to  have  refreshments 
served  when  they  came  in  late  from  parties  ;  and 
now  the  husband  and  wife  were  alone. 

"  I  should  like  just  a  glass  of  iced  water,"  said 
Theodora,  coming  over  to  the  little  round  table  near 
the  fire,  spread  with  wine  and  liqueurs  and  cold 
chicken  and  sandwiches. 

To-night  she  was  all  in  white,  and  nothing  suited 
her  better.  Here  in  the  intimacy  of  the  library,  with 
her  wraps  thrown  off,  and  her  warm  hair  and  white 
arms  and  shoulders  gleaming  in  the  fire-light,  she 
again  reminded  George  of  Tintoretto's  Eve.  He 
tried  not  to  look  at  her,  but  that  was  impossible. 
Her  loveliness  caught  his  glance  and  kept  it,  how- 
ever unwillingly.  She  held  out  the  glass  for  more 
water.  It  was  almost  the  very  gesture  of  that  fair 
Venetian  Eve  in  the  Accademia,  holding  the  apple 
towards  Adam,  who  sits  watching  her  spellbound, 
speechless  before  her  beauty  as  well  as  her  audacity. 

Slowly  she  drank  the  water,  staring  into  the  fire, 
but  knowing  quite  well  that  George  was  watching  her. 

He  was  seated  in  a  big  armchair  near  the  fire, 
138 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  139 

and  Theodora,  without  looking  at  him,  felt  her  heart 
swell  with  pleasure  at  his  nearness  and  their  alone- 
ness.  It  was  the  first  time  they  had  been  alone  since 
that  painful  scene  in  the  afternoon.  The  arrival 
of  the  Princess  had  occupied  Theodora  completely 
for  some  time  afterwards,  and  then  one  thing  and 
another  had  intervened,  and  they  had  spoken  no 
more  together.  And  now  ?  tWere  they  going  to 
continue  that  subject  ?  Was  it  to  be  reopened  and 
further  held  up  to  the  light  ?  Or  was  it  to  be 
for  ever  banned  between  them  and  buried  where  it 
belonged,  in  the  rather  bitter  past  ? 

George  sat  silent,  smoking  a  homely  pipe,  and 
Theodora  presently,  without  turning  her  head,  peeped 
at  him. 

And  then,  as  she  looked,  and  let  her  gaze  slowly 
rest  wholly  on  him,  there  was  something  about  the 
way  he  smoked  that  appealed  strangely  to  her  sense 
of  pity.  The  firelight  played  about  his  fair,  clean- 
shaven face,  with  its  message  of  absolute  honesty 
that  no  one  could  ever  fail  to  read,  even  at  first 
glance,  and  showed  him  tired  to-night.  He  looked 
almost  forlorn,  clinging  to  his  pipe  as  to  his  only 
friend,  and  as  she  watched  she  saw  that  he  had 
been  deeply  and  cruelly  hurt.  All  the  old  light- 
heartedness  had  gone  out  of  his  eyes.  A  cloud  had 
come  down  and  crushed  back  the  buoyant  youthful- 
ness  that  had  characterised  him  ever  since  that  after- 
noon on  the  Ramparts  when  he  first  held  Theodora 
in  his  arms.  He  was  not  morose,  not  angry-looking. 
It  was  something  more  than  that.  He  looked  as  if 
the  well-spring  of  his  happiness  had  suddenly  been 
tampered  with,  and  do  what  he  would  he  could  not 
disguise  the  change. 

"  George ! " 

She  rose  suddenly  and  glided  towards  him. 

Down  on  her  knees  by  his  chair  she  went,  throw- 
ing her  arms  round  his  neck  and  letting  her  cheek 
rest  against  his  breast. 


140  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  Oh,  we  can't,  we  mustn't  quarrel,"  she  murmured. 

"  Are  we  doing  so  ?  "  said  George,  coldly.  "  I 
thought  we  had  neither  of  us  spoken  a  word  for 
several  moments." 

"  Oh,  George,  George !  You  are  angry  with  me. 
You  almost  hate  me." 

But  in  spite  of  her  assertion  she  still  clung  to 
him,  her  white,  silken  drapery  sweeping  round  her 
on  the  floor,  and  her  red-gold  hair  in  a  cloud  on  his 
breast. 

"I  can't  bear  it  if  you  are  not  going  to  make 
friends  with  me,"  she  went  on  quickly.  "  I  know  I 
deserve  to  be  punished.  Nobody  ever  deserved  it 
more ;  and  yet — oh !  George,  try  to  listen  to  what 
I  am  saying.  Try  to  understand  !  My  reason  for 
never  telling  you  that  I  knew  Marcel  before  and  that 
we  were  engaged  once  was  not  a  mean  one — not  a 
culpable  one.  It  was  simply  idiotically  childish — 
idiotically  puerile — impossibly  childish  it  seems  to 
me  now.  It  was  just  this.  I  could  not  bear  to  speak 
of  Marcel.  The  whole  affair  had  hurt  me  too  much, 
and  was  too  recent  a  smart  to  be  opened  before  any 
eye — even  yours.  And  then  I  hadn't  the  slightest 
idea  that  you  knew  him.  I  never  dreamed  for  one 
moment  that  our  lives  were  going  to  be  all  inter- 
mingled later  on.  I  thought  he  was  passing  out 
of  my  life  for  ever.  I  determined  to  look  upon 
the  whole  episode  as  something  that  was  irrevocably 
finished.  That  seemed  the  only  way.  And  so — 
well — that  is  my  explanation  of  why  I  kept  it  all 
a  secret  from  you." 

She  paused.  "  Had  I  known  that  you  and  Marcel 
were  intimate,  I  should  have  told  you  all  about  it." 

"  You  knew  it  in  Venice,"  said  George,  quietly ; 
"  why  did  you  not  tell  me  then  ? " 

That  was  difficult  to  answer. 

She  confronted  the  question.  She  was  over- 
whelmed at  her  enormous  folly  in  not  having  done 
so.  Why,  indeed,  had  she  not  told  him  then  ?  In 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  141 

the  light  of  all  these  later  developments,  it  seemed 
to  her  now  that  it  would  have  been  the  easiest 
thing  in  the  world  to  have  said  to  him  on  that  well- 
remembered  day  in  Venice  when  he  had  first  spoken 
about  Marcel  to  her,  "  I  was  once  engaged  to  him." 

But,  then,  looking  desperately  hard  into  the 
matter,  in  her  efforts  to  disentangle  the  motives  and 
plead  her  case  forcibly  with  her  husband,  she  caught 
a  glimmer  of  the  truth.  It  was  because  her  love  for 
George  was  waking  that  she  did  not  wish  to  drag 
Marcel  and  that  old  story  forward  where  it  might 
come  between  them. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  one  thing  ? "  said  George,  when 
she  did  not  answer  his  question.  "  Will  you  tell  me 
what  your  present  feeling  is  for  Monsieur  Fleur  ? " 

"  My  present  feeling  !  "  She  started,  and,  lifting 
her  head,  looked  at  him.  The  violet  eyes  under  the 
curly  black  lashes  were  full  of  confusion.  "  I  have  no 
feeling,"  she  said  hastily.  "  None  at  all." 

"  Is  not  that  curious  ? "  said  George,  coldly. 

"  Or,  if  I  have  " — she  cried,  carried  away  by  her 
emotion — "it  is  a  feeling  that  I  would  rather  not 
speak  of.  I  am  not  proud  of  it.  On  the  contrary,  I 
heartily  despise  myself  for  allowing  such  an  emotion 
to  master  me  ;  but  the  truth  is,  George — I  had  better 
tell  you — I  hate  Marcel — I  despise  him."  She  threw 
into  her  voice  a  note  of  passionate  vehemence. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  say  that,"  said  George. 

"  George,  why  are  you  speaking  in  that  hateful, 
sarcastic  voice  ?  It  is  quite  true.  I  do  hate  and 
despise  him.  Why  shouldn't  I  say  so  ? " 

To  herself  she  was  thinking,  "  If  you  knew  what 
good  reason  I  have  for  my  scorn  of  your  wonder- 
ful aeronaut,  you  would  not  sit  there  looking  so 
cold  and  satirical — you  would  be  angry — indignant. 
Heaven  alone  knows  what  storm  of  wrath  would 
break  out  in  you  if  you  knew  the  truth  as  I  know 
it  about  Marcel  and  his  inventions " 

"  No  doubt  you  have  reasons,"  said  George ;  "  but 


142  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

as  you  do  not  honour  me  with  your  confidences,  I 
prefer  not  to  guess  at  them." 

"  Ah !  George,  George  !  "  All  the  woman  in  her 
was  roused  now,  and  the  colder  and  quieter  he  was 
the  more  she  was  determined  to  break  through  this 
mask  of  chilling  politeness  and  come  on  the  old 
George  who  cared  for  her.  She  rose  from  her  knees 
and  seated  herself  on  the  arm  of  his  chair.  Bending 
towards  him,  she  put  her  arms  round  his  neck  and 
laid  her  cheek  against  his. 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  that  really  matters,"  she 
said,  "and  that  is  that  we  understand  each  other. 
Listen."  One  little  white  hand  came  down  on  his 
hair  softly.  "  Have  I  or  have  I  not  made  you  believe, 
George,  that" — her  words  sank  to  a  low  whisper — 
"  I  love  you — beyond  all  words — it  cannot  be  told  ? 
What  I  felt  for  Marcel  was  simply  the  blind  hysteria 
of  a  schoolgirl.  But  you — you  have  me  wholly  and 
truly — I  more  than  love  you,  I  respect  and  worship 
you — with  every  fibre  of  my  being  and  every  ideal 
of  my  spirit.  Surely  you  believe  me — why,  it  must 
be  evident  to  you  and  every  one,  I  should  think.  In 
fact " — her  voice  went  still  lower — "  I  am  ashamed  of 
myself  sometimes  for  caring  for  you  so  ridiculously 
much.  I  almost  wish  that  we  were  poor — that  we 
hadn't  a  penny — that  we  lived  alone  on  a  desert 
island,  or  something  like  that,"  with  a  little  laugh, 
"  so  that  I  could  prove  to  you  what  it  means  for  me 
to  be  always  with  you.  It  is  happiness — it  is  joy — 
it  is  life  itself,  George,  being  with  you." 

No  man  could  have  listened  to  that  appeal  un- 
moved. George's  arms  went  round  her  in  spite  of 
himself  and  drew  her  close. 

"  Is  it  true  ?  Is  it  absolutely,  entirely  true  ?  "  he 
whispered. 

"  Yes." 

She  nodded  her  head,  and  her  arms  clung  still 
closer  round  his  neck. 

"So  true,"  she  whispered,  "that  I  wish  you  had 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  143 

been  penniless  like  Marcel  and  I  had  married  you 
then." 

There  was  silence  in  the  library.  The  red  fire, 
dying  down  low,  cast  scarlet  and  bronze  light  on  the 
back  of  the  books  that  lined  the  walls  towards  the 
ceiling.  The  clock  struck  one.  In  the  dead  still- 
ness came  from  outside  a  faint  hum  of  traffic — 
carriages,  fiacres,  motors — whirling  home  with  their 
gay  worldlings. 

"  But  it  is  true,  isn't  it,"  said  George,  "  that  you 
married  me  without  loving  me  ?  I  suppose  there  is 
no  mistake  about  that,  is  there  ? " 

He  felt  her  cheek  grow  hot  against  his. 

"  I  was  too  foolish — that  is  the  truth,  and  so  I 
did  not  say  to  myself,  when  I  married  you,  '  I  love 
George,  but  I  did — without  knowing  it,  I  did." 

"  Then  if  you  care  for  me  now,  give  me  the  proof," 
said  George. 

"What  proof?  "  she  cried  gladly. 

He  put  his  hand  under  her  chin  and  lifted  her 
head  and  looked  straight  into  her  eyes.  "  Clear  up 
all  this  mystery,"  he  said.  "Explain  that  letter  of 
Marcel's  to  you.  Tell  me  straight  out,  without  any 
further  concealments  and  doubtfulnesses,  why  he  was 
writing  to  you  to  come  to  him.  What  was  his  mean- 
ing when  he  alluded  in  that  letter  to  '  our  secret ' — 
yours  and  his  ? " 

As  he  watched  her  he  saw,  to  his  horror,  that  all 
the  colour  faded  out  of  her  cheeks,  leaving  her  as 
white  as  death.  She  drew  a  sharp  breath,  and  her 
eyelashes  came  down  on  her  cheeks.  She  shivered, 
and  then  she  crept  close  and  clung  to  him — "  Don't — 
don't  ask  me  that,  George." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  can't  tell  you." 

"  You  can't  tell  me  ! "  he  repeated.  "  What  does 
that  mean  ? " 

"  It  isn't  my  secret.  If  it  were  my  secret,"  she 
said  piteously,  "  but  it  isn't." 


144  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  Do  you  know  what  it  is  ? "  asked  George. 

"  Yes." 

"  It  is  a  secret,  then,  that  you  share  with  Marcel  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  see.  You  share  it  with  Marcel — you  refuse  to 
share  it  with  me  ? " 

Suddenly  his  cold  tone  changed,  and  he  began  to 
plead  with  her,  for  he  realised  that  this  was  a  critical 
moment  in  the  lives  of  both,  and  that  no  half  measures 
would  suffice. 

"  Dearest,  I  am  going  to  do  my  very  best  to 
understand,"  he  said  tenderly,  "  but  you  are  terribly 
puzzling.  I  am  absolutely  in  the  dark.  You  are  my 
wife,  and  we  care  for  each  other,  let  us  say.  How  is 
it  possible  for  me  to  endure  the  fact  that  you  keep 
things  secret  from  me,  and  share  them  confidentially 
with  a  man  you  once  loved,  refusing  me  your  confid- 
ence entirely  ?  What  on  earth  do  you  think  I  am 
made  of,  that  I  can  see  a  letter  like  that  one  in  Mrs. 
Packinthorp's  possession  without  being  maddened  ? 
Come,  dearest,"  said  George,  "  break  through  it  all, 
make  the  effort  for  my  sake,  be  candid  and  sincere 
with  me.  What  right  has  Marcel  to  write  to  you 
like  that  ?  How  dare  he  say  to  you,  '  Come  to  me '  ? 
What  does  he  mean  by  '  the  secret  way '  ?  and  who 
is  Ivan  ? " 

She  held  her  breath. 

"  Answer  me,"  said  George.  "  Trust  me  now  and 
tell  me  everything.  I  refuse  to  say  to  you  it  is  your 
duty.  I  simply  say  to  you,  do  it  if  you  love  me  as 
you  say  you  do." 

She  burst  into  tears,  but  remained  firm. 

As  that  pleading  voice  ran  on  in  her  ear  she 
longed  desperately  to  cast  everything  aside  and  tell 
him  the  story  of  Marcel  and  Ivan.  A  fierce  struggle 
went  on  in  her  breast,  but  never  for  a  moment  was 
the  issue  in  doubt.  She  would  die.  She  would  suffer 
tortures.  But  she  would  not  betray  Marcel  Fleur's 
secret. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  145 

"  Do  you  see  what  is  in  front  of  us  if  you  do  not 
give  way  to  me  now?"  said  George,  after  a  time. 
"  I  tell  you  frankly,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  it  is 
inevitable  that  an  estrangement  begins  between  us. 
I  am  a  man — a  man  and  a  human  being,  and  whether 
I  am  right  or  not,  I  know  myself  too  well  to  pretend 
that  I  can  go  on  living  with  you  day  after  day,  year 
after  year,  caring  for  you  as  I  have  done,  while  you 
refuse  to  tell  me  something  that  obviously" — he 
paused  and  he  repeated  the  word  emphatically — 
"  obviously  I  ought  to  know." 

"  Can't  you  trust  me  ?  "  breathed  Theodora. 

"  It  isn't  a  question  of  trusting  you.  It  is  a 
question  of  your  trusting  me.  Why  can't  you  trust 
me  ?  Why  can't  you  tell  me  this  ?  Why  can't  you 
tell  me  all  ?  " 

He  had  thrown  his  pride  aside  again  and  was 
pleading  with  her  once  more.  "  Trust  me,  tell  me, 
dearest,"  he  whispered.  "  You  know  very  well  that  I 
am  safe  where  anything  needs  to  be  kept  secret.  I 
can  say  that  much  of  myself  at  any  rate,"  with  a  rue- 
ful laugh, "  though  I  don't  seem  to  be  a  great  success 
at  other  things." 

"  I  can't  tell  you,"  was  all  she  could  say. 

0  Is  it  because  you  have  promised  not  to  ?  "  asked 
George  at  last. 

"Yes." 

"  You  have  promised  Marcel  Fleur ;  is  that  what 
you  mean  ? " 

"  I  can't  say  whom  I  have  promised,"  came  the 
answer. 

"And  is  that  your  final  decision — in  spite  of  all 
we  have  said  to-night  ?  In  spite  of  your  assurances 
that  you  care  for  me — is  it  possible  that  you  are  able 
and  willing  to  allow  the  matter  to  end  like  this  ? " 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Theodora,  dolefully. 

"  Then  you  must  take  the  consequences,"  said 
George,  rising.  "  It  is  you — not  I — who  are  respon- 
sible if  things  go  wrong  in  our  lives  together." 

L 


CHAPTER  XX 

MRS.  PACKINTHORP  breathed  a  deep  sigh  of  content 
as  the  boat  train  steamed  slowly  into  Charing  Cross 
and  came  to  a  standstill  in  the  dingy  station.  The 
long  line  of  porters,  each  eager  for  the  most  profit- 
able passenger,  dashed  at  the  carriage  doors,  and 
she  stepped  quickly  out  of  her  first-class  carriage. 
The  long  journey  from  Monte  Carlo  the  day  before 
had  not  tired  her  in  the  least ;  she  had  been  far 
too  happy  for  fatigue,  and  as  usual  she  was  smart 
and  chic  in  the  extreme,  even  though  she  had  been 
travelling  for  hours.  Her  admirably  cut  gown  of 
dark-blue  serge  and  her  trim  little  beaver  hat  were 
eminently  suitable  for  travelling,  and  to  look  at  her 
as  she  stood  calmly  and  smilingly  giving  her  orders 
to  the  porter,  one  could  not  help  noticing  how  fresh 
and  well-turned-out  she  was.  She  looked  well,  and 
she  felt  well.  Coming  from  Monte  Carlo  she  had 
been  in  one  long  dream,  as  she  sat,  clutching  her 
precious  little  bag. 

She  tipped  the  porter  liberally,  for  she  was  always 
good  to  servants  and  dependants,  feeling  perhaps  a 
certain  sympathy  with  them  in  their  struggle  for  a 
living,  and  finding  in  her  own  mind  some  analogy 
between  her  hazardous  life  and  their  hard  one. 

"  Tell  him  to  drive  to  the  hotel,  please,"  she  said, 
naming  the  famous  place  where  she  had  decided  to 
stay. 

As  the  cab,  burdened  with  her  luggage,  slowly 
made  its  way  out  of  the  station  yard,  she  leant 
forward  and  looked  into  the  streets  with  an  amused 

146 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  147 

expression.  Oh,  it  was  heavenly  to  be  in  town  again 
for  a  few  days!  She  clutched  still  tighter,  with 
nervous  hands,  the  little  morocco  bag,  which  had 
never  left  her  for  an  instant. 

Everything  seemed  delightful  to  her.  She  looked 
at  the  brilliantly-lighted  streets,  the  swaying  omni- 
buses overtopped  by  the  great  and  noisy  motor- 
omnibuses  flying  along  as  though  they  wished  to 
run  over  the  people  scurrying  across  the  roads,  like 
huge  Juggernaut  cars.  Her  cab  passed  the  sweep 
of  Trafalgar  Square  and  came  upon  the  crowded 
Hay  market  with  its  two  theatres  disgorging  their 
laughing,  hurrying  throng.  The  lines  of  waiting 
carriages,  the  shouts  of  the  attendants  hurrying  to 
and  fro,  searching  vainly,  blowing  shrill  calls,  and  the 
flying  footmen  trying  to  find  their  masters  among 
the  seeking  mob  of  well-dressed  people,  all  thrilled 
her  now. 

To-morrow  she  promised  herself  she  would  go 
round  the  shops.  There  was  much  that  she  needed, 
and  she  could  give  herself  a  free  hand  for  once.  She 
wanted  the  sense  of  absolute  freedom  that  London 
gives  more  than  any  other  city  in  the  world. 

Paris  was  a  tiny  bit  too  small  for  her  just  then. 
The  Allinghams,  for  instance,  and  others.  .  .  .  She 
would  return  there,  of  course,  presently.  The  cab 
drew  up  at  the  hotel,  and  she  went  into  the  office 
and  asked  for  a  bedroom  and  sitting-room. 

"No.  208  is  a  most  charming  suite,  madame," 
replied  the  clerk.  "  It  is  on  the  third  floor." 

"  No  ;  I  wish  to  be  on  the  first  floor." 

She  was  determined  to  have  a  good  time  for  once, 
and  gave  her  orders  en  princesse. 

With  an  apology  the  clerk  offered  her  another 
suite  on  the  first  floor,  and  she  was  shown  up  to 
the  charming  rooms  without  delay.  She  felt  far  too 
wideawake  to  go  to  bed  at  that  hour.  "  Why  should 
I  not  go  down  and  get  some  supper  ? "  she  exclaimed 
aloud.  The  idea  pleased  her.  In  a  few  moments 


148  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

she  had  unlocked  her  boxes  and  chosen  from  out 
their  contents  a  gorgeous  Directoire  frock  of  dull 
gold  cloth,  with  a  glittering  gold-worked  shawl  draped 
over  it,  and  falling  to  the  ground  in  sinuous  folds — 
a  Paris  triumph  from  a  well-known  house,  which  she 
had  bought  and  paid  for  in  Nice. 

Throwing  over  her  white  shoulders  a  beautiful 
cloak  of  the  same  glowing  shade  and  lined  with 
ermine,  she  went  down  into  the  hall.  She  was  wearing 
a  long  white  feather,  set  far  back  in  her  dark  hair, 
its  ends  sweeping  down  and  emphasising  the  curve 
of  her  long  neck.  As  she  sat  there  quietly  watching 
the  rapidly  filling  hall  she  listened  lazily  to  two  men 
talking  near  her.  One  of  them  explained,  "  Ah,  that's 
Rigos,  the  Mexican.  .  .  .  They  say  he's  worth  two 
millions  now." 

"  Lucky  beggar ! "  rejoined  the  other  carelessly. 

Two  millions !  The  words  rang  in  Mrs.  Packin- 
thorp's  ears.  She  looked  at  the  man  who  was 
approaching. 

He  was  very  young,  twenty-two  at  the  most,  and 
was  slight  and  graceful,  with  a  lazy,  attractive  walk. 
He  had  a  handsome  face,  with  brown  eyes  and  black 
hair,  and  an  expression  of  extreme  sadness.  He 
seated  himself  at  a  little  table  and  ordered  coffee. 

The  two  men  got  up  and  went  into  the  restaurant. 
Mrs.  Packinthorp  watched  them  as  they  disappeared. 
She  rose  and  moved  along  the  hall.  A  slight  accident 
occurred  just  then. 

The  exquisite  gold-worked  shawl  of  her  gown,  its 
filmy  folds  floating  in  the  air  as  she  moved,  caught 
on  one  of  the  little  tables  and  swept  over  a  coffee-cup 
standing  on  the  edge.  The  coffee  streamed  over  her 
gown,  making  an  ugly  dark  stain  on  the  delicate 
material.  She  gave  a  sharp  exclamation  of  dismay. 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry ! "  a  voice  exclaimed  with  a 
charming  foreign  accent.  "  What  can  I  say  ?  It  is 
all  my  fault  for  so  carelessly  placing  my  cup  at  the 
edge  of  the  table." 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  149 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  did  not  at  first  look  up.  She 
was  ruefully  examining  her  gown,  ruined  beyond  all 
hope ;  but  after  a  second  she  had  regained  her  usual 
manner.  One  of  her  axioms  was  that  it  never  paid 
to  look  angry,  especially  with  men. 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence  whatever,  thank  you," 
she  said,  raising  her  eyes.  Observing  the  penitent 
look  in  his  face,  she  continued  sympathetically  and 
charmingly :  "  It  was  all  the  fault  of  my  stupid  gown, 
and  it  deserves  its  fate." 

"  I  shall  never  forgive  myself." 

"Oh,  please,  don't  think  any  more  about  it. 
Really,  it  doesn't  matter.  I've  got  another  one ! " 
she  added  laughingly. 

She  was  thinking  he  looked  frightfully  unhappy, 
and  was  wondering  what  was  the  matter  with  him. 
It  occurred  to  her  that  he  wanted  to  talk  to  some- 
body. 

"  It  is  too  kind  of  you  to  put  it  like  that,"  he  said 
nervously  ;  "but  I  feel  such  a  clumsy  fool.  Bad  luck 
seems  to  follow  me  everywhere.  I  have  only  just 
arrived  at  the  hotel,  and  I  am  the  cause  of  this 
accident  and  give  you  all  this  annoyance." 

"  What  does  it  matter  ? "  she  said,  "  since  no  one 
saw  it  happen,  and  I  don't  mind  ? " 

"Oh,  it  is  of  you  I  am  thinking.  I  don't  care 
who  may  have  seen  it.  I  know  no  one  here,"  he 
replied. 

"  Don't  you  ? "  said  Mrs.  Packinthorp.  "  No,  more 
do  I !  Isn't  it  dull  ? "  she  added,  laughing  once  again 
sympathetically. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  she  began 
to  move  slowly  away.  He  made  a  step  forward. 

"  I  do  wish  you  would  stay  and  talk  to  me  for 
five  minutes,"  he  said  quickly  and  almost  excitedly. 
"  Will  you — please  ? "  he  added  beseechingly. 

She  looked  at  him  brightly.  "Well,  we  are  two 
lonely  mortals  ;  why  shouldn't  I  ?  "  she  said  suddenly 
with  an  air  of  bonhomie. 


150  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  Do,"  he  said.     "  I  am  so  lonely  in  this  desert." 

"  Surely  it's  an  oasis,"  she  replied.  "  Look  at  the 
palm-trees  and  flowers." 

"Yes,  and  the  monkeys — I  mean  waiters,"  he 
laughed,  catching  her  mood. 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  smiled.  "  Let  us  ask  one  of 
them  to  bring  you  some  more  coffee,"  she  suggested. 

"No;  I  don't  want  any  now.  I  only  ordered  it 
to  pass  the  time,"  he  answered  with  his  charming 
smile. 

As  they  sat  there  and  talked  on  ordinary  subjects, 
Mrs.  Packinthorp  was  not  blind  to  the  fact  that  Rigos 
was  staring  at  her,  not  rudely,  but  with  quite  open 
admiration.  The  tall,  composed  woman,  with  her 
striking  oval  ivory-white  face,  fascinated  him.  Her 
soft  voice  was  so  soothing,  and  she  was  so  amusing, 
and  yet  kind  and  sympathetic,  saying  a  good  word 
for  everything  and  everybody,  in  spite  of  her  fine 
criticism  and  the  accuracy  of  her  views,  which, 
curiously,  coincided  with  his  own.  After  a  few 
moments  she  rose  to  go.  She  was  not  one  to  spoil 
a  situation. 

"I  must  be  off,"  she  said,  " I'm  so  tired." 

He  looked  genuinely  concerned. 

"  Oh,  how  selfish  of  me  to  keep  you  here  talking 
when  you  are  tired  after  your  long  journey !  " 

"  Good-night,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand 
frankly. 

"  Good-night.  But  may  I  not  call  on  you  to- 
morrow and  introduce  myself  properly  ?  " 

"That  will  be  charming,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Stay, 
let  us  be  unconventional.  Pay  your  duty  call  in  the 
morning  and  come  to  tea  with  me.  My  sitting-room 
is  No.  38." 

He  laughed  quite  gaily.  "  How  delightful !  I 
will  come  with  pleasure.  Good-night,  then."  His 
melancholy  air  had  vanished. 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  went  slowly  and  gracefully 
towards  the  lift.  Not  until  she  got  into  the  privacy 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  151 

of  her  rooms  did  she  laugh  softly  to  herself  as  she 
puffed  her  Russian  cigarette  and  settled  down  by  the 
fire  in  an  exquisite  peignoir  to  read  and  think. 

She  awoke  early.  The  room  was  still  enveloped 
in  the  darkness  of  a  chill  December  morning.  She 
reached  out  and  touched  the  button  of  the  light  above 
her  bed  and  saw  by  her  little  travelling-clock  that 
it  was  not  quite  eight  o'clock.  For  a  while  she  lay 
thinking. 

To-day  was  to  be  a  day  of  luxurious  content. 
She  would  go  out  and  shop  and  buy  lots  of  things. 
The  many  little  luxuries  which  smart  women  deem 
necessities  and  which  she  had  so  often  to  forego  would 
be  hers  to-day.  Then  Count  de  Rigos  would  call  in 
the  afternoon,  and  that  would  all  be  charming,  and 
then 

But  she  thought  no  more.  The  present  was 
always  enough  for  her.  There  was  so  much  to  do. 
Life  was  so  interesting  if  one  were  really  alive  and 
had  just  won  a  small  fortune  at  Monte  Carlo.  She 
smiled  and  touched  the  bell,  and  ordered  her  bath 
and  breakfast ;  and  presently,  full  of  life  and  energy, 
she  was  sitting  by  the  fire  looking  fresh  and  radiant, 
wrapped  in  a  rose-pink  kimono,  enjoying  her  ctijeuner 
and  skimming  the  columns  of  the  Morning  Post. 

An  hour  later,  dressed  in  a  tailor-made  gown  of 
Austrian  blue  cloth  trimmed  with  military  braiding, 
and  a  huge  hat  covered  with  ostrich  plumes,  she 
sauntered  out  of  the  hotel  and  walked  leisurely  up 
the  Haymarket. 

It  was  quite  a  charming  morning  for  December, 
and  as  she  strolled  along  everything  seemed  wonder- 
fully delightful.  There  were  so  many  things  she 
wanted — a  visit  to  a  famous  firm  for  glimpses  at  some 
tailor-made  gowns,  which  she  could  describe  in  her 
articles,  was  an  absolute  necessity,  and  thither  she 
went.  After  that  she  went  to  see  some  hats.  A 
lovely  one  of  real  musquash  and  roses,  with  a  brim 
lifted  coquettishly  on  one  side,  suited  her  dark 


152  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

beauty  to  perfection,  and  a  velvet  toque  to  match  the 
coat  of  sapphire  velvet  she  had  just  bought  captured 
her  fancy.  She  ordered  both  to  be  sent  to  the  hotel 
immediately.  Then,  hailing  a  taxicab,  she  drove  to 
a  stationer's  in  Sloane  Street  and  ordered  her  gold 
monogrammed  notepaper. 

As  she  was  leaving  the  shop  a  delicate  little 
edition  of  Browning's  "The  Ring  and  the  Book," 
bound  in  soft  mauve-coloured  leather,  caught  her  eye. 
"That  will  do  for  me  to  read  this  afternoon,"  she 
said  to  herself,  with  a  slow  smile,  as  she  bought  it. 
She  dismissed  the  cab  and  strolled  down  Sloane 
Street  until  she  reached  a  curio  shop.  The  window 
was  full  of  lovely  things,  and  for  some  moments 
Mrs.  Packinthorp  gazed,  for  once  with  real  and 
unaffected  admiration,  at  the  old  silver  and  china 
displayed.  Suddenly  her  eyes  narrowed. 

"  How  sweet ! "  she  said  aloud,  and  went  into 
the  shop. 

"  I  want  that  little  ivory  and  enamelled  crucifix, 
please,"  she  said.  The  shopman  named  an  exagger- 
ated price,  but  rather  to  his  amazement  it  was  paid 
without  a  murmur.  An  exquisite  sketch  of  Donatello's 
"  St.  Francis  " — perhaps  the  most  ascetic  and  purely 
beautiful  face  in  the  world  of  sculptured  art — com- 
pleted her  purchases.  "  Really,  I  feel  quite  devotional," 
she  murmured  to  herself.  "  I  wonder  what  St.  Francis 
did.  He  certainly  looks  hungry." 

It  was  getting  late,  and  hastily  calling  another 
cab  she  was  swiftly  driven  back  to  the  hotel  with  her 
purchases,  stopping  on  the  way  to  buy  a  profusion  of 
pale-pink  roses  and  great  Parma  violets. 

After  lunch  she  changed  her  gown  for  a  black  one 
of  soft  cashmere,  almost  startling  in  its  simplicity  and 
plainness,  and  falling  in  beautiful  lines  around  her 
slim  graceful  form. 

She  had  been  able  at  Monte  Carlo  to  redeem  her 
jewellery  and  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  as  she  slipped 
two  diamond  rings  on  her  fingers. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  153 

About  four  o'clock  a  servant  came  bringing  a  card 
to  her,  saying  that  the  gentleman  was  below. 

"  El  Conte  di  Rigos." 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  was  sitting  on  the  lounge  in  front 
of  the  fire.  A  great  bunch  of  violets  carelessly 
tucked  into  her  gown,  filled  the  room  with  their 
fragrance.  She  laid  down  the  little  mauve-bound 
volume  of  Browning  as  the  Count  entered. 

"  You  were  reading,  and  I  interrupted  you,"  he 
said  with  his  quick,  nervous  manner. 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed  you  have  not,"  she  smiled, 
stretching  out  her  hand  and  making  room  for  him  on 
the  great  lounge.  "  I  was  only  reading  something  I 
have  read  many  times  before." 

He  took  up  the  little  book.  "  Ah,  it  is  Browning," 
he  said  with  his  quaint,  soft  accent.  "  Oh,  but  it  is 
very  difficult  to  understand  for  me." 

"  There  is  something  so  spiritual  and  uplifting  in 
the  lines  I  was  reading,"  murmured  Mrs.  Packinthorp, 
who  opened  the  book  haphazard  and  had  not  the 
smallest  idea  what  it  was  about. 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  he  said  eagerly. 

"  No.  Tell  me  about  yourself,"  she  replied  gaily. 
'  Let  us  live  in  the  present." 

"I?  What  have  I  to  tell?"  Count  de  Rigos 
started,  as  if  at  his  own  words.  "No,  my  story  is 
too  sad — it  is  not  interesting,  and  it  is  ugly,  too. 
Oh,  talk  of  beautiful  things,"  he  cried  impulsively. 
"  Speak  of  yourself,  or  at  least  talk  to  me.  For  you 
love  beautiful  things,"  he  added,  as  Mrs.  Packinthorp, 
with  a  charming  smile,  held  up  a  white  hand  as  though 
to  ward  off  his  flatteries.  "  I  see  you  do  by  your 
flowers  and  that  lovely  little  sketch  which  you  place 
alone  on  the  mantelpiece,  where  most  women  crowd 
their  silly  photographs  and  china."  He  rose  and 
examined  it. 

"  I  always  love  that  St.  Francis,"  she  cried  with 
enthusiasm.  "  Wherever  I  go  I  take  it.  It  helps  one 
at  least  to  strive  after  better  things." 


154  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  That  you  should  talk  of  striving  for  good  almost 
makes  me  laugh,"  he  said,  looking  down  into  her 
upturned,  ivory-tinted  face,  with  its  fathomless  eyes 
which  looked  up  so  frankly  to  his. 

"  Why  ?     Must  not  we  all  strive  ?  " 

"  Most  of  us,  yes,  but  you " 

She  laughed  gaily.  "  Come,  we  are  getting  morbid. 
Let  me  give  you  some  tea."  The  glittering  diamond 
rings  flashed  in  the  firelight  as  her  long,  shapely 
hands  busied  themselves  among  the  teacups. 

Count  de  Rigos  did  not  answer.  He  was  standing 
with  his  back  to  her  looking  into  the  fire. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  "  I  am  going  to  be  very  stern 
with  you.  Here  is  your  tea ;  you  are  to  drink  it  and 
smile  and  talk  to  me." 

He  turned,  and  she  was  surprised  to  see  the 
change  that  had  come  over  his  dark,  fascinating  face. 
It  was  white  and  drawn.  His  lips  were  pressed 
together  and  there  were  tears  in  his  dark  eyes. 
In  one  hand  he  held  the  little  crucifix  that  Mrs. 
Packinthorp  had  bought  that  morning.  He  kissed  it. 

She  laid  down  the  teacup,  and  rose  softly. 

"You  have  something  troubling  you,"  she  said, 
her  voice  vibrating  with  sympathy.  "  Tell  me  about 
it." 

He  was  silent  still. 

She  touched  his  arm  and  motioned  him  to  the 
lounge. 

For  a  few  minutes  they  sat  in  silence.  Presently 
she  said  softly,  "  There  is  so  much  sorrow  in  the 
world,  and  one  meets  with  it  every  day,  but  it  always 
touches  some  chord  in  me.  My  heart  goes  out  to 
any  one  suffering.  .  .  .  There  is  so  much  grief  and 
pain  around  us !  " 

"  There  is  more  remorse,"  he  said  quickly  and 
nervously.  The  word  struck  Mrs.  Packinthorp.  Then 
he  had  a  story  to  tell.  She  waited  sympathetically, 
never  moving.  He  seemed  to  be  summoning  up  his 
courage,  and  almost  brusquely  he  said  at  last— 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  155 

"  It  was  long  ago  in  Mexico.  There  was  a  girl ! 
Ah,  but  she  was  lovely.  Dios !  And  I  loved  her 
and " 

He  was  silent  again.  His  voice  seemed  choked 
with  emotion. 

"  She  did  not  love  you  ?  "  murmured  his  companion 
softly. 

"  Ah,  but  she  did — once  !  "  he  burst  out. 

"  And "  she  leant  forward  in  quick  sympathy. 

"  She  tired  of  me — and " 

"And  you  cannot  forget  her.  You  love  her  still ! 
How  generous  ! "  said  the  soft,  low  voice. 

"  No,"  he  replied  in  his  nonchalant  gentle  voice, 
"  I  killed  her  !" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

"  I  KILLED  her,"  said  the  Mexican. 

Mrs.  Packinthorp's  face  did  not  move  a  muscle. 
She  gripped  the  little  book  she  was  holding  in  her 
hand,  but  that  was  the  only  outlet  to  her  feelings  she 
allowed  herself.  So  he  had  killed  her !  She  was 
sitting  on  the  couch  in  a  delightful  pink-walled  sitting- 
room  in  a  fashionable  London  hotel  with  a  murderer ! 
The  idea  seemed  for  a  moment  almost  humorous. 
She  longed  to  laugh  outright  and  loudly.  Instead, 
she  merely  sat  silent. 

Her  wits  did  not  desert  her,  however.  Like 
lightning  she  saw  the  part  best  suited  to  the  situation, 
and  played  it. 

She  turned  to  De  Rigos,  her  eyes  soft  with  sym- 
pathy. No  words  issued  from  her  lips,  but  everything 
was  in  her  look. 

De  Rigos  stared  at  her  and  rose.  "  I  ought  not 
to  have  told  you.  I  have  horrified  you.  You  will 
never  speak  to  me  again." 

She  shook  her  head  slightly  as  if  to  reassure  him. 

"  Perhaps  some  day  you  will  let  me  tell  you  the 
whole  story.  You  will  not  think  so  hardly  of  me 
then,"  he  said. 

"  I  do  not  think  hardly  of  you  now."  He  thought 
her  face  reminded  him  of  one  of  Murillo's  Madonnas 
hanging  in  the  gallery  of  his  southern  home.  "  Yes, 
some  day  you  shall  tell  me  all  about  it.  After  all  it 
was  a  crime  passionnel,  and  I  am  a  woman  of  the 
world,  and  understand,"  she  said,  laying  her  long 

156 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  157 

white  hand,  with  its  sparkling  diamonds,  over  his  for 
a  second. 

"  It  is  no  secret,  you  know,"  he  added  in  his  slow 
voice  that  always  seemed  to  have  a  touch  of  hopeless- 
ness and  helplessness  in  it.  "  It's  quite  an  old  story 
in  our  country.  My  people  managed  to  get  me  out 
of  it,  however." 

"You  will  come  and  see  me  again,"  said  Mrs. 
Packinthorp. 

"  You  want  me  to  ? "  eagerly,  turning  quickly 
towards  her. 

She  nodded,  smiling  frankly. 

"  Yes,  I  will.  Oh,  but  you  have  given  me  hope. 
You  are  my  good  angel ! "  He  kissed  her  hand 
impulsively. 

Next  morning,  as  she  lazily  turned  over  her  letters 
and  sat  by  the  fire  enjoying  her  early  morning 
chocolate,  with  that  enjoyment  which  only  buoyant 
health  can  give  at  breakfast  time,  she  found  a  note 
among  them.  It  was  short  and  hurriedly  written. 
She  turned  to  the  signature,  "  Ignace  de  Rigos,"  and 
then  read  it  with  interest.  "  I  am  going  away,  but  I 
shall  return  in  a  few  days.  I  cannot  summon  up  the 
courage  to  see  you  again  just  yet,  after  yesterday. 
Yet  somehow  I  feel  that  I  shall  be  welcome  when  I 
return.  Until  then,  with  all  my  most  heartful  thanks, 
au  revoir." 

He  would  have  been  surprised  indeed  had  he  seen 
the  reception  of  his  note.  Mrs.  Packinthorp  laughed. 
"  What  a  charming  little  note  !  "  she  exclaimed  aloud. 
"  Just  the  right  tone  for  the  situation.  Yes,  I  think 
I  must  welcome  him  on  his  return.  Anyway,  it's 
well  worth  stopping  on  for.  Thank  Heaven,  I  won 
that  money  at  Monte.  I  needn't  worry  in  the  least 
about  the  wretched  bill,"  she  said  complacently, 
looking  round  at  the  charming  sitting-room.  With 
a  few  touches  in  the  way  of  satin  cushions,  masses 
of  flowers,  and  pieces  of  dull  gold-worked  satin 
Japanese  embroidery  thrown  carelessly  over  the 


158  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

lounge  and   armchairs,  she  had  now  quite  made   it 
her  own. 

Three  days  later,  as  Mrs.  Packinthorp  was  dressing 
for  a  smart  dinner  given  at  the  Carlton  that  night,  a 
magnificent  bouquet  of  pale  yellow  roses  was  brought 
her  with  a  note — 

"  I  have  returned.  Accept  these  flowers  if  I  am 
welcome. — IGNACE  DE  RIGOS." 

"  How  beautiful ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Packinthorp, 
looking  at  the  flowers  and  thinking  of  the  note. 

That  rose  dinner  and  dance  were  an  unqualified 
success.  Everything  was  a  triumph  of  taste  and 
luxury.  Thousands  of  yellow  roses  covered  the  walls 
and  ceilings.  The  papers  had  duly  chronicled  it, 
saying  that  the  cotillon  presents  were  worth  a  king's 
ransom,  so  an  enormous  crowd  had  gathered  outside 
to  watch  the  guests  arrive.  A  famous  divine  had 
preached  against  the  waste  and  extravagance,  and 
nothing  was  wanting  to  make  it  the  clou  of  the  winter 
season. 

And  yet  Mrs.  Packinthorp  left  early.  She  had 
seen  De  Rigos  watching  her  as  she  walked  across  the 
hall  on  her  way  to  dinner,  and  she  expected  to  have 
a  word  or  two  with  him  that  night.  She  was  right  in 
her  surmise. 

As  she  was  slowly  making  her  way  along  the 
corridor  in  her  sheath-like  yellow  gown,  with  the  trail 
of  roses  encircling  her  from  shoulders  to  hem,  a  voice 
exclaimed  quietly,  "  How  beautiful  you  look  !  " 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  started,  although  she  had  seen 
him  coming. 

"  Oh,  you  frightening  person,"  she  said,  laughing. 
"My  thoughts  were  far  away.  I  had  no  idea  you 
were  anywhere  near." 

"  I  have  watched  for  you  all  the  evening,"  he  said, 
looking  at  her  intently.  "  You  carry  my  roses  !  Then 
I  am  more  than  happy !  " 

"  How  sweet  of  you  to  say  that ! "  she  exclaimed 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  159 

delightedly.  "No  one  ever  pays  me  compliments 
nowadays.  I  suppose  I'm  getting  too  old." 

"  It  was  no  compliment.  It  was  real  happiness. 
But  you  must  be  tired.  I  must  not  detain  you  now." 

"  Shall  we  lunch  together  to-morrow  ?  "  she  said, 
looking  at  him  kindly.  "  Or  stay.  Let  us  go  for  a 
walk  in  the  morning.  Will  you  take  me  to  the  City  ? 
I  never  go  there.  One  gets  so  tired  of  the  park. 
Let  us  go  and  see  the  old  churches,  and  museums, 
and  things.  Come  at  eleven,"  she  said  gaily,  as  she 
wished  him  good-night,  and  went  up  to  her  rooms. 

The  next  day  punctually  at  eleven,  Count  de 
Rigos  called  and  was  announced.  He  found  Mrs. 
Packinthorp  already  dressed  in  a  simple  tailor-made 
gown  and  close-fitting  little  astrakhan  cap. 

"  How  delightfully  punctual  ! "  She  seemed  over- 
flowing with  gaiety  and  friendliness  to-day.  "  Where 
shall  we  go  ?  Suppose  we  get  on  a  bus  and  pretend 
we  are  American  tourists  and  go  to  St.  Paul's." 

De  Rigos  acquiesced  gladly.  He  had  been  about 
London  very  little,  and  Mrs.  Packinthorp  would 
be  a  most  vivacious  guide.  Everything  seemed  to 
interest  her ;  the  people  in  the  streets,  the  motor- 
omnibus  upon  whose  heights  they  climbed,  the  build- 
ings they  were  passing.  She  was  so  extraordinarily 
different  from  the  society  women  he  knew.  Her 
opinions  were  so  bright  and  reliable,  her  nature  so 
frank  and  charming. 

"  Do  you  know  I  have  never  met  a  woman  like 
you,"  he  said,  as  they  walked  down  the  beautiful  nave 
of  St.  Paul's. 

"  How  nice  of  you  !  "  she  said  softly. 

"  I  wish  you  and  I  could  always  go  about  like 
this,  and  I  wish  I  felt  worthy  of  all  your  goodness." 

"  Now  you're  getting  sad  again.  What  shall  I  do 
with  you?"  she  answered  with  a  charming  little 
puzzled  air. 

They  wandered  about  for  some  time,  and  then 
out  through  the  Churchyard  and  into  Cheapside, 


160  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

among  the  rush  of  clerks,  and  business  men,  and  type- 
writing girls,  and  office  boys,  all  jostling  each  other 
in  their  race  for  their  favourite  luncheon  place. 
They  looked  into  the  windows.  The  tie-shops  fasci- 
nated De  Rigos  with  their  wealth  of  wares  at  wonder- 
fully cheap  prices.  Mrs.  Packinthorp  insisted  on 
their  going  in  here  and  there  to  buy  things,  and 
together  they  laughingly  chose  a  multitude  of  objects 
and  ordered  them  to  be  sent  to  the  Carlton.  Through 
the  Guildhall  they  wandered,  and  then  an  idea  seized 
Mrs.  Packinthorp. 

"I  will  take  you  to  an  A.B.C.,"  she  said,  "and 
we  will  have  a  simple  lunch." 

That  idea  of  hers  was  a  brilliant  success. 

"  It's  so  nice  that  you  like  these  simple  pleasures," 
he  said.  "  It  makes  me  understand  you  better. 
Somehow,  I  didn't  think  that  night  when  I  first  saw 
you  that  you  could  be  interested  in  the  small  things 
of  life.  I  saw  in  your  eyes  only  that  you  knew  the 
higher  things." 

"  It  is  the  simple  things  which  are  the  greatest," 
said  Mrs.  Packinthorp  with  a  touch  of  sadness. 

She  had  not  the  least  idea  what  he  meant  by  the 
higher  things,  but  the  tone  of  her  voice  was  admirable 
as  she  looked  at  him  candidly. 

"  You  are  right  as  you  always  are,"  he  answered 
with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her. 

Then  at  Mrs.  Packinthorp's  suggestion  they  took 
a  cab  home.  .  .  .  They  drove  almost  in  silence.  .  .  . 
De  Rigos  felt  no  need  for  words  with  this  dear 
sympathetic  woman. 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  did  not  ask  many  visitors  to  the 
hotel  that  week,  although  she  went  out  a  great  deal. 
De  Rigos  had  begged  her  to  dine  with  him  whenever 
she  was  not  engaged,  and  they  went  to  theatres  and 
concerts  together.  The  latter  bored  her  rather.  She 
was  no  lover  of  music.  De  Rigos,  on  the  contrary, 
loved  the  beautiful  in  everything — pictures,  statuary, 
flowers,  music,  life.  Mrs.  Packinthorp  cared  for  the 


luxurious  and  costly.  That  was  the  difference  between 
them.  But  she  cleverly  hid  her  yawns  at  the  "  Three 
Fates  "  and  "  Demeter  and  Persephone  "  in  the  British 
Museum,  and  smiled  her  way  past  the  treasures  of  the 
National  Gallery.  The  Hogarth  caricatures  she  said 
she  could  not  look  at  on  the  same  day  as  the  Turners 
and  Titians.  "  It  is  sacrilege  !  "  she  exclaimed.  And 
De  Rigos  looked  at  her  with  an  admiration  he  no 
longer  took  pains  to  conceal. 

A  week  went  by  in  this  halcyon  way. 

Then  came  Mrs  Packinthorp's  next  move. 

Quite  casually  one  morning  she  mentioned  that 
she  must  return  to  Paris  now,  as  she  had  business 
matters  connected  with  property  there. 

The  look  on  De  Rigos'  face  filled  her  with  the 
keenest  pleasure. 

"  It  is  such  a  nuisance !  "  she  said.  "My  lawyers 
over  there  wish  me  to  go,  and  I  do  not  see  how  I  can 
avoid  it." 

She  changed  the  subject. 

"  Will  you  take  me  out  for  the  afternoon  and 
amuse  me  ? "  she  cried  gaily.  "  Let  us  start  out  on 
foot  and  wander,  and  wherever  we  get  we  will  enjoy 
ourselves.  I  am  a  little  sad  to-day,  for  a  wonder," 
she  added,  looking  at  him  with  a  pathetic  look  in  her 
great  dark  eyes. 

He  needed  no  second  asking.  He  was  ready 
enough  to  do  anything  for  her.  This  woman,  with 
her  soft,  caressing  voice,  and  the  beautiful  hands 
which  she  sometimes  laid  upon  his  arm  for  a  moment 
in  sympathy,  was  rapidly  becoming  a  necessity  to 
him.  Life  without  her  would  be  almost  unbearable. 
And  she  was  going  away  ! 

They  walked  up  Regent-street  and  then  turned 
down  along  Oxford-street,  and  visited  the  glittering 
Christmas  bazaars  in  the  great  shops.  The  ingenious 
and  beautiful  toys  fascinated  and  delighted  them. 

"  I  must  buy  some  for  my  little  godchild,"  said 
Mrs.  Packinthorp.  "How  sweet  those  great  bears 

M 


162  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

are !  And  these  lovely,  lovely  clockwork  dolls !  How 
she  will  love  them !  I  adore  children,"  she  added, 
and  she  ordered  the  toys  to  be  sent  off  to  the  hotel. 

She  did  not  add,  of  course,  that  the  little  child  to 
whom  she  was  playing  fairy  godmother  existed  only 
in  her  imagination. 

"  The  toys  can  go  to  some  hospital,"  she  thought. 
"  I  suppose  they  always  want  them  there." 

The  Mexican  watched  her  with  admiring  eyes  as 
she  talked  to  the  girl  who  was  wrapping  up  the  things. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  to  be  such  a  nuisance,"  she  was 
saying  sweetly  as  she  changed  something. 

"  Kind  and  good  to  every  one,"  he  thought.  "  Ah, 
if  I  only  had  not  that  hanging  over  me  ! " 

They  wandered  out  again  into  Oxford-street,  and 
made  their  way  across  Tottenham  Court-road,  with 
its  seething  crowd,  into  Holborn.  They  paused  a 
moment  to  look  down  the  bare,  empty  space  of 
Kingsway,  speculating  on  the  beauties  of  the  avenue 
when  it  should  be  finished.  Everything  interested 
them.  Because — was  it  ? — each  was  so  tremendously 
interested  in  the  other. 

As  they  were  crossing  the  road  near  the  top  of 
Chancery-lane  the  clang  of  a  fire-engine  bell  broke 
upon  them. 

The  crowd  of  omnibuses  and  waggons  turned 
quickly  to  one  side  to  make  way  for  the  headlong 
flight  of  the  motor  engines. 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  and  her  companion  were  in  the 
middle  of  the  road  at  that  moment.  They  made  a 
dash  and  were  separated  by  a  hansom  whose  terrified 
horse,  rearing  and  swerving  at  the  sound  of  the  fire- 
engine,  narrowly  missed  De  Rigos  with  its  hoofs  as  it 
pawed  the  air  madly. 

The  cab  rocked,  swayed,  and  fell.  Quick  as 
lightning  Mrs.  Packinthorp  had  darted  to  De  Rigos 
and,  thrusting  her  arm  through  his,  dragged  him 
wildly  aside.  A  moment  later  and  the  cab  might 
have  fallen  on  him. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  163 

In  silence  they  crossed  to  the  pavement.  Mrs. 
Packinthorp  was  white,  but  otherwise  perfectly  calm 
and  collected.  But  De  Rigos  was  trembling. 

"  Come,"  he  said.  "  I'll  get  you  a  little  brandy  or 
something." 

"No,  no,"  she  replied  quickly,  "I'm  not  hurt. 
I'm  quite  all  right.  Let  us  walk  down  this  quiet 
little  turning  out  of  the  way  of  the  crowd." 

It  was  De  Rigos  who  was  the  more  upset  of  the  two. 

"  You  saved  my  life,"  he  said. 

He  spoke  with  difficulty. 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  had  quite  regained  her  com- 
posure, and  was  watching  him  intently,  but  with  a 
look  of  sympathy  in  her  expression. 

"  Let's  go  into  this  church  and  have  a  little  rest," 
Mrs.  Packinthorp  said  suddenly. 

They  turned  off  Holborn  and  entered  a  tall,  red- 
brick building  in  a  little  side  street.  Its  half  lights 
and  dreamy  atmosphere  instantly  told  on  the  Mexican. 

Mrs.  Packinthorp  watched  and  waited  for  some 
moments.  She  knew  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes. 
She  waited  patiently  till  they  had  disappeared,  and 
he  had  regained  his  self-control. 

Then  she  spoke  to  him  as  if  to  a  child. 

"  Let  us  go  out  into  the  air  now.  It  will  do  us 
both  good." 

So  they  strolled  out  again  into  the  little  tiled  court- 
yard, with  its  high  walls  and  a  few  bare  black  trees 
silhouetted  like  etchings  against  the  blue-grey  sky. 

An  infinite  peace  seemed  to  brood  over  this  out- 
of-the-way  corner  that  had  about  it  some  quality  not 
of  London  at  all,  but  of  some  little  Florentine  church 
tucked  away  in  a  vicolo,  as  though  its  beauties  were 
too  fine  to  be  called  attention  to. 

"  Oh,  look  at  this  exquisite  thing  1 "  said  De  Rigos, 
returning  to  his  natural  manner,  and  standing  before 
a  copy  of  a  Delia  Robbia  Madonna  and  Child,  sur- 
rounded with  the  inevitable  wreath  of  oranges  and 
green  leaves,  "  Some  one  with  taste  has  placed  this 


164  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

in  the  little  high-walled  yard,  and  sheltered  it  with  a 
tiny  roof,  in  Italian  style." 

"  Beautiful,"  said  Mrs  Packinthorp,  who  secretly 
considered  it  hideous. 

"  And  those  little  trees,  too,  on  either  side," 
continued  de  Rigos.  "  Fancy  finding  beauty  like 
this  in  such  a  corner  of  London !  Let  us  stay  here 
for  a  few  minutes.  Do." 

They  strolled  up  and  down  under  the  bare  trees 
of  the  courtyard  for  some  moments  in  silence.  An 
intense  quiet  pervaded  the  spot.  They  might  have 
been  thousands  of  miles  away  from  everywhere. 
Yet  two  minutes'  walk  would  bring  them  into  the 
heart  of  London. 

At  last  Mrs  Packinthorp  said  quietly,  "  I  am  so 
sorry  to  think  this  will  be  our  last  afternoon  together 
in  London.  I  have  enjoyed  things  so  much." 

"  Our  last  afternoon  ! " 

He  repeated  the  words  dully.  They  sounded 
like  a  death-knell  in  his  ear.  Surely  fate  was  not 
going  to  be  so  cruel  as  that.  Was  this  wonderful 
woman  going  away  from  him,  out  of  his  life  altogether  ? 

"  I  suppose  you  will  be  stopping  on  in  London," 
said  Mrs  Packinthorp. 

"  No,"  said  De  Rigos  firmly. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  You  have  not  made  any  plans  ?  " 

"  I  have,"  he  said. 

A  sudden  resolution  was  overmastering  him. 

"What  do  you  mean?  "  asked  Mrs.  Packinthorp. 

"  You  will  know  in  time." 

"  I — shall — know — in — time  ! " 

Her  voice  was  strained  with  horror. 

Was  he — was  he  going  to  kill  himself,  as  well 
as — that  other  ?  "  I  shall  know,"  she  repeated 
mechanically. 

"  Yes,  for  I  am  going  to  marry  you,"  he  said  in 
his  mobt  nonchalant  manner,  just  as  he  had  said  the 
other  day  :  "  I  killed  her.'' 


CHAPTER  XXII 

PARIS  was  watching  with  deepest  interest  the  progress 
of  the  Fleur  airship. 

The  recent  trials  had  succeeded  almost  beyond  all 
hopes,  and  if  the  invention  kept  up  its  first  record,  or 
bettered  it,  as  it  seemed  likely  to  do,  then  France 
would  stand  foremost  among  nations  in  aerial  navi- 
gation. The  latest  successes  of  this  wonderful 
machine  had  attracted  enormous  attention,  and 
Marcel  Fleur  was  now  as  well  known  a  figure  as  the 
President  himself.  His  name  was  one  to  conjure  with 
in  the  music-hall  revues.  His  face  and  figure, 
hideously  and  cleverly  caricatured  on  picture  post- 
cards, were  in  every  window.  His  striking  features 
and  curious  personality  combined  to  make  him  dear 
to  the  Parisians'  hearts.  In  fact,  he  was  a  personage. 

Marcel  hated  publicity,  although  it  touched  his 
vanity  greatly.  It  was  dangerous.  It  made  him  and 
his  doings  too  public.  His  house  was  well  known. 
The  journalists  had  wormed  out  of  the  chattering 
concierge  nearly  every  detail  of  his  private  life,  and  he 
feared  what  next  they  might  discover. 

Old  Ivan,  walking  feebly  along  Rue  St.  Antoine 
one  afternoon,  for  he  was  still  very  weak  after  his 
last  illness,  stopped  and  bought  a  newspaper  from  the 
good-natured  old  lady  who  kept  the  kiosk  round  the 
corner  of  the  street.  She  smiled  at  him  "A  la  bonne 
heure,  Monsieur  Ivan.  Ca  va  mieux,  alors.  And 
you  haven't  flown  away  in  the  airship  of  the  great 
Monsieur  Fleur  ? "  pointing  to  the  illustration  on  the 
front  page. 

165 


166  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

Ivan  nodded.  He  was  in  no  mood  for  talking, 
and  her  words  had  touched  him  in  his  most  sensitive 
spot,  uncalculated  though  they  were. 

"  The  airship  of  Monsieur  Fleur !  "  The  words 
struck  chill  on  his  heart.  He  turned  away  and  made 
his  way  down  the  Boulevard  St.  Germain.  A  pathetic 
figure  he  made  as  he  trudged  along  the  pavement, 
supporting  himself  on  a  crooked  stick.  With  his  old 
bent  back  and  fair  head  crowned  by  a  fur  cap,  from 
which  his  long  white  hair  escaped,  he  looked  quaint 
and  remarkable,  even  in  that  quarter  of  Paris,  where 
there  are  so  many  quaint  and  remarkable  characters 
seen. 

The  words  kept  resounding  dully  in  his  brain  like 
the  beat  of  sledge  hammers,  over  and  over  again, 
round  and  round,  driving  him  almost  to  madness. 
He  was  no  longer  completely  master  of  his  mind. 
The  illness  had  weakened  his  fine  intellect,  as  well  as 
his  body.  Only  in  so  far  as  the  actual  details  of  his 
invention  went  was  his  mind  still  intact.  In  these 
the  master  brain  asserted  itself  and  held  its  own. 

A  dull  sense  of  some  great  wrong  kept  ringing 
in  his  thoughts  that  day,  which  he  could  not  quite 
grasp,  and  there  was  something  he  was  not  to  do. 
They  had  told  him  not  to  do  it.  What  was  it  ?• 
drummed  out  the  noises  in  his  head.  He  wandered 
on  unseeingly,  muttering  to  himself  in  his  native 
tongue,  up  the  Boulevard,  towards  the  Jardins  du 
Luxembourg. 

Turning  down  a  little  side  street,  he  was  passing 
one  of  the  little  cafts  so  typical  of  that  Quartier, 
when  a  voice  hailed  him. 

"Ivan!  Ivan!"  He  looked  round,  and  there 
was  Sergius  Krikofifsky,  the  singer. 

The  sudden  interruption  to  his  train  of  thought 
and  the  well-known  face  cleared  the  dull  brain 
instantly. 

"  Oh,  Sergius  Krikoffsky,  I  am  glad  to  see  you !  " 
he  exclaimed.  "  How  long  is  it  since  we  met  ?  But, 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  167 

indeed,  I  read  of  you  in  the  papers,  of  your  singing 
here  in  Paris,  and  of  your  success,  and  it  made  me  so 
happy.  I  was  going  to  write  to  you  and  ask  you  to 
meet  your  poor  old  friend  somewhere,  but  I  have 
been  so  ill,  and  I  can't  remember  things  as  I  used  to 
do." 

"I  did  not  know,  my  friend,  that  you  were  in 
Paris,"  said  Sergius,  laying  his  hand  affectionately  on 
his  arm,  "  nor  that  you  had  been  ill." 

They  entered  the  cafg  and  ordered  absinthes. 
For  some  time  they  talked  on  over  their  long  white- 
lined  glasses.  There  was  so  much  to  tell  after  all 
these  years. 

"I  am  glad  to  know  that  you  are  happy  and 
prosperous,"  said  Krikoffsky  at  last.  "  Where  are  you 
living?" 

Ivan  was  getting  tired,  and  that  dull  feeling  was 
coming  over  his  brain  again.  Krikoffsky's  voice  was 
beginning  to  sound  distant  and  far  away.  "I  live 
with  Marcel  Fleur,  the  aeronaut,"  he  replied  slowly. 

"  With  Marcel  Fleur  !  Mais  que  faites  vous  dans 
cette  galhe  ?  "  cried  the  singer  with  interest.  "  Oh, 
but  I  see  !  Of  course  you  and  he  have  met,  you  are 
both  of  you  inventors.  You  have  both  that  wonderful 
gift  of  invention." 

"  Invention !  invention  !  "  muttered  Ivan,  with 
contempt. 

His  brain  was  going  round  again. 

"  Ha,  ha,"  he  laughed  softly  and  mysteriously. 
"  Who  has  ever  seen  our  Monsieur  Fleur  invent  any- 
thing ?  Clever  at  figures  ?  Yes,  yes,  but  the " 

"  What  ? "  asked  Krikoffsky,  looking  at  him  with 
interest. 

He  mumbled  on  at  last. 

"  The  brain  !  Ah,  the  brain.  That  is  old  Ivan's. 
He  knew — he  knew " 

Krikoffsky  did  not  speak,  but  leaning  forward  in 
amazement  waited  for  him  to  continue. 

The  hammers  were  beginning  their  work  again. 


1 68  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  Ivan  knew  how  to  solve  the  problem,  and " 

He  stopped  his  muttering  and  sat  silent  and 
troubled,  looking  straight  before  him.  His  thoughts 
had  flown  back  to  the  question  that  had  been  worrying 
him  an  hour  before  when  he  bought  his  paper.  Why 
did  everything  go  round  and  round  in  his  brain  so  ? 
It  never  used  to  !  What  was  it  ? 

Ah,  yes,  there  was  something  he  must  not  tell. 
.  .  .  That  was  it.  ...  He  would  go.  ...  You  could 
always  trust  old  Ivan.  ...  He  would  never  tell.  .  .  . 
No,  no,  old  Ivan  would  never  tell.  .  .  . 

He  rose  slowly  and  without  a  word  went  straight 
out  of  the  cafe. 

Sergius  Krikoffsky  stared  after  him  in  amazement. 

A  journalist  attached  to  a  great  Paris  paper  came 
over  to  his  table  just  then  and  greeted  him.  They 
talked  on  various  topics.  Last  night's  new  play  at 
the  Odeon  and  a  new  opera  at  the  Opera  Comique 
having  been  stripped  bare  of  any  merit  or  anything 
they  might  have  to  recommend  them,  and  the  mise- 
en-stine  having  been  proportionately  praised,  the 
conversation  turned  on  the  development  of  the  latest 
murder  case,  and  it  was  decided,  as  is  usual  in  all 
Paris  mysteries,  that  the  old  woman  who  was 
murdered  in  her  chateau  at  St.  Germain,  having 
stolen  her  own  jewels,  was  done  away  with  for 
political  reasons. 

But  Krikoffsky's  thoughts  kept  wandering. 

He  could  not  get  Ivan  out  of  his  mind. 

"You  look  worried,  my  friend,"  said  Armand 
Roche,  after  a  while.  "  But,  then,  that's  not  surprising. 
La  vie  !  c'est  t ennui /  Above  all  for  a  journalist, 
when  nothing  happens.  Tell  me,  who  was  the  old 
man  with  the  fur  cap  talking  to  you  ?  Had  he  dropped 
from  the  North  Pole  ?  He  seemed  to  be  telling  you 
something  pretty  exciting — to  himself,  anyway." 

"  He  was,"  answered  Krikoffsky,  slowly. 

His  instinct  had  scented  some  mystery  and  caught 
at  the  hint  of  injustice  Ivan's  talk  had  suggested. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  169 

What  was  it  all  about  ? 

Did  Ivan  really  mean  to  imply  that  he  had  been 
the  inventor  of  the  airship  ?  And  that  his  was  the 
inventor's  genius  that  had  given  the  Fleur  airship 
to  the  world  ? 

To  a  man  of  Krikoffsky's  artistic  temperament 
injustice  was  unbearable.  It  was  a  crime.  And  Ivan 
was  obviously  suffering. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said  suddenly  to  Armand  Roche, 
"what  do  you  know  about  Marcel  Fleur?  Is  he 
clever  ?  What  do  people  say  of  him  ?  He  invented 
that  airship,  didn't  he  ?  " 

Armand  Roche  was  sharp  as  a  needle  in  his 
impressionism. 

In  a  second  his  enthusiasm  for  copy  was  aroused. 
He  was  sure  that  old  man  had  been  telling  Krikoffsky 
something  a  propos  of  Fleur. 

"  Marcel  Fleur,"  he  said  slowly,  looking  a  little 
preoccupied.  "  Oh,  yes,  he  is  clever  all  right,  there  is 
no  doubt  of  that.  As  for  inventing  the  airship, 
naturally  he  did.  At  least,  one  never  knows,  of 
course!  I  have  heard  things."  He  stopped  absent- 
mindedly  for  a  moment.  "  But  how  can  one  tell  ? 
Every  one  looks  after  himself  in  this  world,  and  Fleur 
has  got  the  airship." 

Krikoffsky  listened  intently. 

Then  there  was  really  something  in  this  fancy  of 
his.  People  did  suspect  something.  Some  people,  at 
all  events.  Those  in  the  know  anyway,  perhaps. 
He  leaned  forward  eagerly. 

"  Listen,"  he  said,  "  What  do  you  think  of  this  ?  " 

In  a  few  sentences  he  described  old  Ivan's  words 
and  his  curious  manner  and  abrupt  departure. 

Armand  Roche  was  beside  himself  with  delight. 

He  had  instantly  scented  a  huge  and  splendid 
scandal. 

Here  was  copy  fallen  from  the  skies.  He  would 
follow  it  up  and  ferret  it  out  to  the  bitter  end.  What 
a  prize  for  the  paper ! 


i/o  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

He  showed  none  of  those  thoughts  in  his  face. 
He  only  turned  laughingly  to  Krikoffsky,  and  said  : 
"  Ah,  tout  ca  c'est  de  la  folie !  Don't  believe  it. 
There  is  nothing  in  it,  my  friend." 

The  two  men  separated  presently,  and  went  their 
different  ways. 

Armand  Roche  wandered  across  to  the  Quai  du 
Louvre,  and  thence  made  his  way  slowly  up  the 
Avenue  de  TOpdra,  busy  and  alive  as  usual  with  its 
mass  of  traffic  and  its  multitude  of  pedestrians,  some 
hurrying,  others  leisurely  examining  the  gorgeous 
shops.  His  mind  was  busy,  too,  as  he  walked  along. 
His  observant  eye  was  taking  in  every  detail  of  the 
passing  throng  ;  the  tourists  with  their  Baedekers 
who  stood  at  the  street  corners  in  little  knots,  vainly 
searching  for  some  building  which  was  the  other  side 
of  Paris  ;  the  blue-veiled,  pretty  American  women 
whose  penetrating  accent  startled  the  ever  polite 
policeman  as  they  asked  him,  "  Say  now,  voulez-vous 
dire,  where  is  the  Louvre  ? "  the  English  paterfamilias 
looking  bored  and  cross  at  being  taken  to  picture 
galleries  and  made  to  admire  things  he  would  scorn 
to  look  at  at  home!  All  this  Armand  Roche  half 
saw  with  his  amused  and  observant  eye.  But  the 
thing  he  had  in  his  mind  was  far  more  important,  and 
he  smiled  as  he  went  his  way. 

He  was  wondering  what  that  talk  with  Krikoffsky 
might  represent  to  him  in  money  very  soon. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

IT  was  no  wonder  that  Marcel  should  be  upset  at  the 
rumours  that  he  was  getting  secret  assistance  with  his 
inventions.  The  eyes  of  Europe  were  upon  him. 

The  success  of  the  Fleur  ornithoptere  was  assured. 
This  machine  was  different  in  its  type  from  any 
hitherto  designed  by  even  the  most  ingenious  students 
of  aeronautics.  Marcel  had,  at  a  bound,  achieved 
greater  results  than  either  Count  Zeppelin  or  the 
mysterious  Wright  brothers,  and  his  great  flying 
machine  undoubtedly  marked  an  epoch.  The  method 
of  commencing  the  flight  might  eventually  be  im- 
proved upon,  but  the  use  of  the  light  motor,  which, 
by  the  combined  action  of  electrical  force  and  the 
radio-active  energy  stored  up  in  the  materials  of  its 
construction,  so  far  distanced  all  previous  inventions, 
was  a  great  factor  towards  success.  Even  the  latest 
inspiration  of  other  famous  men  fell  far  short  of  the 
possibilities  of  this  invention  of  Marcel's. 

But  greater  far  was  the  automatic  controlling 
apparatus.  In  the  application  of  that  supreme 
device  lay  the  surety  of  all  safety  and  success.  The 
American  brothers,  hitherto  the  most  successful,  had 
through  many  years  of  slow  and  careful  experimenta- 
tion demonstrated  that  it  was  the  man  and  not  the 
machine  that  counted  most  in  coping  with  the 
varying  conditions  prevailing  in  the  troubled  and 
unstable  aerial  sea.  But  through  Ivan's  genius  the 
uncertain  "  personal  equation  "  could  be  disregarded  ; 
or,  at  any  rate,  reduced  to  the  minimum.  This 
automatic  controlling  instrument  would  be  relied  on 

171 


i;2  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

under  all  circumstances,  and  would  be  applied  to  any 
species  of  contrivance  for  the  navigation  of  the 
skies. 

And  yet,  successful  as  the  various  flights  had  been, 
and  immense  as  seemed  the  ultimate  possibilities  of 
the  ingenious  bird-machine,  Marcel  was  not  satisfied. 
It  had  pleased  his  imagination  and  gratified  his 
amour-propre  to  have  brought  this  dream  to  materiali- 
sation. But  now  there  came  the  question  of  the  stern 
realities  of  things.  In  what  way  was  the  invention 
related  to  the  necessities  of  the  age  ?  It  could  not 
be  denied  that  so  far,  great  as  the  success  had  been, 
there  was  a  tremendous  expenditure  of  energy  from 
the  motor  compared  with  the  result  attained,  and  the 
sources  of  pitch-blende  and  its  few  and  rare  congeners 
are  not  capable  of  infinite  exploitation. 

"  Strange  indeed,"  thought  Marcel  to  himself,  one 
day,  while  dreaming  over  the  chances  of  recruiting 
these  forces,  "  strange,  indeed,  that  the  idea  of  Poland 
should  come  so  continually  into  connection  with  this 
invention  !  The  fair  land  of  Poland  is  represented  in 
the  Promethean  inventor,  in  the  tutelary  goddess 
Theodora,  and  in  the  very  material  substance  which 
is  so  potent  a  factor  in  its  construction."  For,  as 
every  schoolboy  knows,  Polonium  is  one  of  the  radio- 
active elements,  and  its  very  name  had  acted  as  a 
magnet  to  Marcel's  experimental  tendencies. 

But  the  ornithoptere  seemed  impossible  as  a 
practical  invention.  Well  enough  to  demonstrate 
the  power  of  such  a  machine  to  imitate  a  natural 
flight.  Yet  the  conjunction  of  other  methods  would 
help  the  more  immediate  applications  of  the  intensive 
motor  and  the  automatic  control. 

Marcel  had,  of  course,  made  a  deep  and  continuous 
study  of  all  the  different  schemes  of  aeronautics,  and 
though,  up  to  this  time,  the  question  of  solving  the 
means  of  flight  by  a  bird-like  construction  had 
absorbed  all  his  imaginative  faculties,  yet  he  had 
always  kept  within  his  view  the  schemes  of  aviation 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  173 

as  from  time  to  time  they  came  before  the  notice  of 
those  interested  in  such  matters. 

Finally  he  decided  to  unite  ideas  and  to  use 
the  combined  types  of  aeroplane  and  dirigible  balloon. 
And  instead  of  the  wing-like  mode  of  propulsion 
which  is  hardly  applicable  to  the  aeroplane  type,  he 
adopted  the  idea  of  the  "  vertical  lifting  screw." 

He  knew  that  the  great  defect  in  the  aeroplane  is 
that  it  must  travel  at  high  speed  to  maintain  its 
position  in  the  air.  The  helicoptere  can  keep  aloft 
without  horizontal  motion,  and  has  also  a  greater 
lifting  force  per  h.p.,  while  a  far  less  bulky  apparatus 
need  be  used,  and  the  gas  envelope  would  ensure  a 
constant  modicum  of  buoyancy. 

The  syndicate,  of  course,  wished  to  sell  this  in- 
vention at  the  highest  price.  The  German  Govern- 
ment, when  sounded,  confessed  that  they  were 
perfectly  satisfied  with  the  results  obtained  by 
Zeppelin  and  Parseval. 

Then,  carefully  and  with  much  misgiving  of  mind, 
George  had  approached  the  British  War  Office. 
But  he  approached  the  unapproachable. 

"  Sir,"  wrote  one,  who,  after  much  delay,  deigned 
to  hold  communication  with  a  person  who  did  not 
belong  to  that  mandarin  class  to  whom  the  future 
destinies  of  England  are  entrusted,  "  I  am  instructed 
to  say  that  the  military  authorities  have  had  experts 
employed  in  watching  the  flights  of  the  various 
airships  and  aeroplanes,  and  the  impression  is  that 
for  a  long  time  to  come  there  is  nothing  to  be  feared 
from  them." 

"You  English,"  said  the  irritated  Marcel  to 
George  when  he  heard  of  this,  "  are  so  self-confident ! 
For  centuries  you  have  found  yourselves  safe  in  that 
jewel  in  the  sea.  You  have  developed  in  that  con- 
dition of  safety.  What  on  earth  will  move  you  from 
your  state  of  self-satisfaction  ?  Since  the  battle  of 
Sedgemoor  you  have  had  no  warlike  operations 
within  your  own  borders.  You  think — some  of  you, 


1/4  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

at  any  rate — that  no  one  wishes  to  fight  you !  Do 
you  forget  that  the  most  terrible  war  of  modern  times 
was  a  civil  one  ?  Brother  against  brother !  Father 
against  son !  And  among  an  Anglo-Saxon  com- 
munity !  And  yet  you  think — some  of  you — that  racial 
connections  will  prevent  war — that  the  effect  of  the  re- 
peated adage,  '  Blood  is  thicker  than  water  ' — senseless 
as  it  appears  on  analysis — will  be  continuous.  No, 
mon  Dieu  !  The  country  that  has  the  greatest  power 
of  attack  will  be  the  best  friend  to  have  in  case  of 
necessity.  After  all,  the  final  facts  of  existence  are 
summed  up  in  the  oft-quoted  remark  of  the  vagabond 
to  the  magistrate,  '  //  faut  vivre  ! ' ' 

George  could  not  but  agree.  The  attitude  of  his 
country  had  troubled  him  considerably. 

"  Our  experts,"  he  said,  "  think  there  is  nothing  to 
be  feared  for  a  long  time  to  come  from  aerial  menace. 
There  is  nothing,  they  say,  to  be  feared  or  expected 
from  a  type  of  machine  which  within  a  year  has 
expanded  its  power  of  flight  from  one  to  fifty-six 
miles  !  That  is  the  advance  which  has  been  attained 
by  Wright's  aeroplane  during  that  short  period.  How 
can  one  take  their  observations  and  efforts  in  serious 
guise  when  one  compares  the  hopeless  failure  of 
England's  dirigibles  with  the  success  of  the  German 
or  French  models  ?  But,  indeed,  when  one  considers 
that  the  governors  of  our  most  wealthy  country  think 
that  £13,000  a  year  is  enough  to  spend  on  this 
enterprise,  and  seem  to  overlook  the  fact  that  years 
of  training  are  required  to  gain  the  skill  neces- 
sary for  successful  construction  and  manipulation, 
it  '  gives  one  furiously  to  think '  whether  in  the 
next  instance  we  English  may  be  able  to  '  muddle 
through '  as  successfully  as  under  previous  occasions 
of  stress." 

It  said  much  for  the  strength  and  saneness  of 
George's  character  that  he  was  able  to  keep  in  the 
background  just  now  all  that  bitterness  and  rancour 
that  attacked  his  heart,  and  to  maintain  calm  and 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  175 

unbiased  and  dignified  relations  with  Marcel  over  the 
airship  affairs. 

It  was  then  necessary  to  apply  these  inventions  to 
the  possibilities  of  the  occasion.  Germany  refused 
them.  England  would  not  admit  their  use  or  necessity. 
The  French  Government  had,  of  course,  kept  a  con- 
stant watch  on  all  these  developments,  but  of  course 
would  not  allow  any  machine  on  the  ornithoptere 
principle — no  matter  how  successful  it  seemed — to  be 
submitted  to  the  nation.  "  No,"  said  the  experts, 
"  this  is  a  very  wonderful  and  successful  toy,  but  if  it 
fails  in  practice  it  will  only  bring  us  ridicule ! "  And 
no  Frenchman  can  stand  ridicule ! 

The  end  of  it  was  that  Marcel  had  been  obliged 
to  swallow  his  pride  and  combine  ideas.  His  new 
invention  was  to  have  a  many-chambered  "  gas 
envelope,"  of  a  strength  and  elasticity  so  far  unknown. 
The  fabric  was  to  be  of  the  greatest  strength  and 
lightness,  and  the  compartments  numerous  and 
absolutely  gas-tight.  This  was  to  give  buoyancy, 
and  save  so  far  as  possible  the  propelling  mechanism, 
and  avoid  the  risk  of  immediate  injury  from  pro- 
jectiles below  the  balloon.  The  aeroplane  was  con- 
structed on  lines  following  in  many  ways  those  of 
"  the  brothers,"  but  with  the  automatic  device  which 
saved  the  aeronaut  from  the  necessity  of  the  contin- 
uous personal  care  which  those  original  inventors  had 
found  necessary. 

Marcel's  little  electro-radio-motor  would  be  per- 
fectly safe  under  a  gas  envelope,  and  there  would  be 
none  of  the  risks  inherent  to  the  gasolene  or  petrol 
motor  which  was  used  in  all  the  latest  inventions. 
Then,  in  addition  to  this  motor,  and  to  the  gyroscopes 
which  he  had  found  so  efficient  in  completing  the 
balancing  and  steering  managements,  he  now  brought 
into  play  the  principle  of  vertical  lifting  screws — in 
fact,  the  final  machine  became  a  combination  of  diri- 
gible balloon  and  aeroplane  and  helicoptere. 

The    first   voyage    of  the    new   airship    was   a 


1 76  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

memorable  one.  Sir  George  Allingham,  Jabez  Craigs, 
and  Marcel  himself  started  from  Melun  to  cross  the 
Channel. 

"  We  are  going  to  attempt  a  flight  across  '  la 
Manche,'  "  said  Marcel,  to  a  reporter,  "  to  make  a 
detour  round  London,  and  then  return  this  evening. 
It  is  rather  an  adventure,  but  I  think  we  can  manage 
it.  Our  accumulator  is  charged  for  twelve  hours  at 
the  weight  we  are  carrying,  and  we  should  do  it 
in  ten." 

Quickly  they  rose  above  all  the  house-tops,  above 
the  chimneys,  the  poplars  and  the  church  spires.  So 
quickly  did  they  move  in  mid-air  that  in  a  few  minutes 
the  station  was  left  behind  in  the  dim  distance. 

The  day  was  perfect.  All  the  atmospheric  con- 
ditions were  congenial  to  experiments  of  this  sort. 
An  even,  soft,  westerly  breeze  helped  Marcel's  en- 
deavours. In  a  few  minutes  the  domes  and  towers  of 
Paris  came  into  view,  and  soon  afterwards  the  great 
airship  quietly  sailed  over  the  Isle  du  Palais,  and 
then  onward  over  the  heights  of  Montmartre  to  the 
northern  suburbs. 

The  wind  veered  round  more  to  the  north  soon 
after  the  environs  had  been  passed. 

"  When  birds,  such  as  carrier  pigeons,  find  the 
wind  force  too  great,"  said  Marcel,  "  they  always  seek 
a  lower  plane  of  flight.  You  will  then  see  the  homing 
pigeon  skimming  along  a  few  feet  or  so  above  the 
ground.  We  will  imitate  the  pigeon — for  safety." 

The  perfectly  controlled  mechanism  enabled  the 
captain  of  the  ship  to  move  up  and  down  at  his 
pleasure,  and  though  the  occupants  of  the  car  seemed 
at  times  to  pass  unpleasantly  near  to  the  summits  of 
churches  and  high  chimneys,  nevertheless  the  air- 
ship went  steadily  on  its  way,  and  as  the  sun's  rays 
became  stronger  its  flight  became  higher. 

Now  the  towers  of  the  cathedral  of  Rouen  could 
be  seen  dimly  appearing  to  the  south-west,  the  still 
rising  sun  illuminating  their  gilded  pinnacles. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  177 

''  We  are  just  passing  over  Dieppe,"  said  Marcel, 
looking  over  the  edge  of  the  car,  "  but  I  am  afraid  we 
are  separated  by  cloudland  from  that  most  hospitable 
town.  Soon  we  will  cross  the  silver  streak  and  begin 
to  show  Britain  the  possibility  of  invasion  by  means 
of  airships." 

George  sat  still  and  said  nothing.  He  thought 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  rodomontade  in  such  sug- 
gestions, but  all  the  time  he  was  considering  what 
might  be  the  ultimate  effect  of  a  fleet  of  contrivances 
such  as  that  on  which  he  was  a  passenger. 

Looking  down  over  the  side  of  the  car  he  could 
now  with  difficulty  determine  the  uncertain  line  of  the 
seashore,  marking  a  separation  from  the  grey-green 
haze  which  he  recognised  as  sea. 

"  We  are  crossing  the  Channel,"  thought  he.  "  Can 
it  ever  be  possible  that  such  machines  as  this  will 
cross  our  dear  dividing  line  with  hostile  purpose  ?  " 

The  airship  again  descended. 

Down  towards  the  rushing  waters  of  the  English 
Channel  it  crept,  and  quietly  pursued  its  appointed 
course.  Lower  and  lower  was  the  continued  flight. 

"  The  air  currents  just  above  us  are  so  strong  that 
it  will  be  hard  to  resist  them  or  make  use  of  them. 
We  are  safe  at  this  low  elevation,"  said  Marcel.  "  But 
in  any  case  we  will  be  ready  to  mount  upwards  or 
skim  downwards  as  soon  as  our  automatic  indicator 
gives  us  any  sign.  Look  ahead  ! "  added  Marcel. 
"  Do  you  see  the  dim  outline  of  the  English  shore  ? 
Those  are  the  white  cliffs  of  your  impregnable  Albion. 
We  have  changed  our  course,  and  soon  we  shall  pass 
over  Dover  and  give  a  surprise  to  the  golfers  and 
Navy  men." 

Dover  was  passed  at  a  high  altitude,  much  to 
the  consternation  of  some  of  the  members  of  the 
Cinque  Ports  Club,  who  watched  this  apparition  with 
dismay. 

"  Evidently  the  first  of  a  fleet  of  destroyers," 
seemed  to  be  the  general  opinion  among  the  old  boys. 

N 


1/8  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

The  sun  shone  brightly  as  the  voyagers  passed 
over  the  Weald  of  Kent. 

The  action  of  the  helicoptere,  combined  with  the 
greater  buoyancy  of  the  balloons,  caused  the  airship 
to  rise  rapidly  to  a  height  of  three  thousand  feet. 

"  We  shall  try  to  keep  this  altitude,"  said  Marcel, 
"until  we  reach  London,  and  then  make  a  descent. 
The  effect  will  be  more  dramatic — and  convincing  ! " 

Nearing  Croydon,  the  lifting  screws  were  slowed 
down,  and  the  airship  descended  to  a  height  of  about 
five  hundred  feet. 

At  this  distance  from  the  earth  a  rapid  flight  was 
made  over  the  southern  suburbs. 

The  Thames  was  crossed  at  Battersea  Park,  and 
the  course  was  then  directed  to  Westminster.  At  the 
Houses  of  Parliament  Marcel  suggested  that  a  halt 
should  be  made. 

"  No,"  said  George,  "  the  central  point  is  the  Bank 
of  England.  Let  us  go  that  far  and  show  the  citizens 
what  possibilities  are  in  view." 

The  Terrace  at  Westminster  was  crowded  with 
members  and  their  friends. 

The  crowded  Strand  and  Fleet-street  were  as 
thick  with  gazing  and  gaping  denizens  as  on  the 
occasion  of  the  Lord  Mayor's  show  as  the  Fleur  air- 
ship passed  quickly  over  the  City  boundary,  cleared 
the  cross  of  St.  Paul's  by  a  hundred  feet  or  more,  and 
quickly  reached  the  civic  centre.  It  stopped  for  a 
minute  circling  slowly  over  the  Mansion  House,  and 
then  crossed  over  to  the  Bank.  Above  the  Bank 
the  airship  again  circled  quietly  and  evenly,  at  the 
height  of  about  six  hundred  feet,  around  the  whole 
circumference  of  the  building,  and  then  was  gently 
wafted  towards  the  centre.  When  above  the  middle 
of  the  edifice  the  machine  began  to  descend. 

Down,  down — at  first  quickly,  and  then  more 
slowly — came  this  threatening  monster.  The  whole 
City,  from  alderman  to  office-boy,  was  quickly  in  the 
streets,  wondering  what  this  might  portend.  The 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  179 

Lord  Mayor  was  hastily  summoned,  and  a  messenger 
was  sent  post  haste  to  the  Honourable  Artillery  Com- 
pany to  provide  help  in  emergency.  At  two  hundred 
feet  altitude  Marcel  brought  the  arresting  and  stabi- 
lising apparatus  to  work. 

There  was  now  no  wind,  and  it  was  easy  to  keep 
the  machine  at  rest. 

"  I  am  going  to  give  them  a  fright,"  said  Marcel. 

"  Don't  do  anything  foolish,"  remonstrated  George. 
"  You  might  cause  trouble  if  you  go  too  far." 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Marcel.  "  I  think  you  will  find 
the  denouement  satisfactory." 

He  stooped,  and  took  up  two  rounded  objects, 
which  he  held  out  to  the  view  of  the  crowed  city.  A 
cry !  A  yell  of  anger  and  terror  went  up.  The 
citizens  expected  bombs — dynamite,  if  not  worse — on 
the  head  of  the  "  Old  Lady  of  Threadneedle-street." 

Marcel  grinned  maliciously  at  George,  who  looked 
half  uncertain  as  to  the  result. 

He  then  attached  the  two  rounded  objects  to 
ropes,  and  quickly  ran  them  up  to  the  level  of  the 
balloon,  where  they  unfolded  themselves  as  the  flags 
of  the  two  nations — the  Tricolour  and  the  Union  Jack. 
The  crowd  was  quick  to  see  the  meaning,  and  a  great 
"  Hurrah  "  came  hurtling  upwards  at  this  novel  and 
picturesque  demonstration  of  V entente  cordiale. 

That  night  there  was  a  grand  dinner  in  Paris,  of 
which  Marcel  was  the  honoured  guest  and  hero,  and 
ere  midnight  Sir  George  Allingham  and  the  Syndicate 
had  the  supreme  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  the 
French  Government  were  about  to  make  the  most 
munificent  offer  of  modern  times  for  any  invention 
yet  known  to  man,  for  a  new  airship  designed  more  or 
less  on  the  lines  of  the  one  that  had  that  day  made 
the  famous  flight  from  Paris  to  London  and  back 
again. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

IT  was  a  strange  irony  of  fate  that  the  two  idols  of 
Paris  that  winter  should  be  the  man  and  woman 
whose  mere  existence  seemed  to  cast  danger  and  pain 
in  the  paths  of  each  other — Marcel  Fleur  and  the 
lovely  Lady  Allingham. 

Theodora,  through  no  desire  of  her  own,  had 
gradually  been  talked  and  paragraphed  by  Paris  into 
the  position  of  professional  beauty.  Her  photographs 
were  in  all  the  shops  and  society  journals.  Wherever 
she  went  she  was  recognised.  Her  patronage  and 
her  name  were  asked  by  milliners  and  dressmakers 
for  their  hats  and  gowns.  Her  presence  was  needed 
at  every  social  function  in  order  to  ensure  its  com- 
plete success  and  brilliancy.  And,  as  often  happens 
in  such  cases,  with  its  growing  reputation  her  beauty 
seemed  to  have  miraculously  developed  and  increased. 
People  said  of  her,  "  She's  lovelier  than  ever  !  "  And 
it  was  true.  For  there  had  come  into  her  expression 
what  is  lacking  so  often  in  the  face  of  a  great  beauty 
— depth  and  tenderness  and  a  note  of  sadness  that 
intensified  her  charm.  Beautiful  eyes  of  a  perfect 
shape  and  exquisite  colouring,  but  with  no  meaning  in 
them,  are  common  enough.  The  violet  eyes  of  Lady 
Allingham  were  full  of  feeling  as  well  as  brightness. 

For,  in  spite  of  her  sadness,  she  was  bright 
enough.  George,  watching  her  sometimes  secretly, 
told  himself  that  he  had  never  seen  her  so  gay  and 
light-hearted  as  she  was  in  these  days,  revelling  in 
the  wit  and  repartee  of  her  delightful  Parisian  circle, 
and  saying  good  things  among  people  who  possess  so 

1 80 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  181 

absolutely  the  art  of  saying  things  well  that  any  one 
else  finds  it  difficult  indeed  to  shine  there.  Yet 
Theodora  shone.  Her  wit  went  home  and  delighted 
the  Parisians  ;  and,  encouraged  by  their  delight  and 
admiration,  she  rapidly  developed  into  a  more  brilliant 
as  well  as  beautiful  woman. 

At  the  same  time  there  was  Marcel  Fleur,  crown- 
ing it  in  his  own  way  over  the  heart  of  Paris.  He 
was  strange,  eccentric,  and  inordinately  clever,  and 
Paris  believed  in  him.  People  ran  after  him  in  the 
streets  to  look  at  him,  and  wherever  he  went  there 
was  a  murmur,  "  M.  Fleur." 

They  ought  to  have  been  the  two  happiest  people 
in  the  city. 

Instead,  they  considered  themselves  the  most 
miserable. 

Theodora  knew  very  well  that  George  disliked 
the  violent  public  admiration  her  beauty  had  excited. 
For  herself,  she  would  have  done  anything  she  could 
to  get  rid  of  this  distasteful  publicity,  but  she  found 
it  impossible.  Paris  had  decreed  that  she  must  have 
her  day,  and  she  was  having  it. 

"A  man  who  marries  a  great  beauty  should 
beware,"  said  George  to  himself  one  day,  cynically, 
as  he  came  upon  Theodora's  photograph  in  a  book- 
shop alongside  that  of  Marcel  Fleur. 

A  pang  of  fierce  jealousy  attacked  him  for  the 
moment. 

But  what  was  the  use  ? 

It  was  better  to  be  sensible.  To  keep  one's  head 
was  certainly  always  the  wisest  course,  and  he  forced 
himself  to  look  at  the  two  photographs  calmly  for 
several  moments  before  he  strolled  leisurely  away. 

It  was  not  an  easy  thing  to  do. 

In  fact,  every  day  George  said  to  himself  that  life 
was  no  easy  matter. 

Theodora  was  alone  in  her  boudoir  that  same 
afternoon  when  George  had  seen  her  photograph  with 
Marcel's,  and  in  the  paper  that  she  was  reading  was 


i82  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

a  glowing  account  of  Marcel  Fleur's  famous  voyage 
to  London. 

Her  feeling  of  pleasure  was  inevitable  as  she  read, 
but  it  suddenly  came  to  an  abrupt  end.  Marcel  Fleur 
himself  was  coming  into  the  room. 

She  flushed  with  anger  and  sprang  to  her  feet. 
On  his  last  visit  here  she  so  emphatically  forbade 
him  ever  to  come  again  that  she  was  astounded  at 
his  audacity. 

But  whatever  she  was  going  to  say  died  away  on 
her  lips.  His  face  was  ghastly  and  his  hancls  were 
trembling.  She  saw  at  once  that  he  was  in  the  grip 
of  some  overmastering  emotion. 

"Ivan  has  disappeared!  "  he  gasped. 

"What!" 

"  He  has  gone — he  is  completely  lost.  For  three 
days  I  have  not  seen  him." 

He  was  looking  at  her  wild-eyed,  imploringly,  as 
if  he  expected  her  to  help  him. 

"  Calm  yourself — calm  yourself,"  she  said  quickly. 
"Tell  me  about  it.  How  do  you  mean — he  has 
disappeared  ? " 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  And  you  take  it  like  that,"  he  burst 
forth,  "quietly  and  calmly,  when  you  know  what  it 
means  to  me  ?  " 

"I  really  fail  to  see  what  good  it  would  do  you 
if  I  became  mad  like  you,"  Theodora  replied  coldly. 
"  It  is  lucky  for  you  that  people  keep  their  heads 
sometimes.  Now  tell  me  when  you  saw  him  last." 

"Three  days  ago — at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
He  went  out  to  buy  some  milk  and  some  journals- 
he  never  returned ;  all  that  day  I  was  very  busy,  and 
I  scarcely  gave  him  a  thought.  It  happened  that  I 
did  not  want  him,  and  I  had  no  time  really  to  wonder 
where  he  was  or  what  he  was  doing.  But  when  night 
came,  and  he  did  not  turn  up,  I  began  to  be  uneasy. 
I  stopped  up  all  night,  but  he  never  appeared.  All 
next  day  I  hung  about  waiting  for  him  and  looking 
for  him  in  all  his  little  haunts  where  I  know  he  had 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  183 

been  wont  to  go  for  drinks  or  tobacco — no  sign  of 
him  anywhere.  I  dare  not  ask  too  many  questions. 
I  did  the  best  I  could,  but  in  vain.  Not  a  trace  of 
him  could  I  find,  and  just  this  afternoon  I  have  dis- 
covered that  he  has  taken  away  his  bag  and  most 
of  his  clothes." 

Theodora  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  Ah,  now  you  are  roused !  "  cried  Marcel,  fiercely. 
"  You  see  at  last  the  possible  significance  of  that. 
Mon  Dieu  !  "  he  burst  forth  ;  "  what  on  earth  am  I 
going  to  do  ?  Something  must  be  done.  He  has 
got  to  be  found — he  must  be  found.  The  French 
Government  are  hurrying  me  now  over  my  new  air- 
ship, and  time  is  short.  I  have  signed  a  contract 
with  them  already  to  produce  it  at  a  certain  time. 
And  with  all  this  competition  on  the  Continent,  every 
hour  is  of  importance,  and " 

He  stopped  dead  and  stared  at  her  with  those 
wild  eyes  of  his. 

"And  you  cannot  go  on,"  she  finished  for  him. 
"  Is  that  it  ?  " 

But  she  knew  as  she  spoke  that  it  was  more  than 
that.  She  realised  to  the  full  what  Ivan's  disappear- 
ance meant  to  Marcel.  It  not  only  deprived  him  ot 
that  talented  man,  with  his  extraordinary  capacity 
for  solving  problems,  but  it  placed  him  also  at  the 
mercy  of  a  great  fear. 

Ivan  might  be  telling  all,  giving  away  his  master 
wholesale  in  little  drinking  taverns,  his  brain  on  fire 
with  absinthe,  and  the  strings  of  his  tongue  loosed. 
Theodora  saw  this  as  plainly  as  Marcel. 

"  Cannot  you  go  to  the  police  ? "  she  said. 

"  I  dare  not,"  said  Marcel. 

Before  he  had  time  to  answer,  George  came  in 
with  the  Due  d'Ailes. 

Marcel  scarcely  took  any  notice  of  the  newcomers, 
but  paced  up  and  down  the  room  for  several  moments 
like  a  wild  beast. 

"  What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  you  ? "  asked 


1 84  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

the  Duke,  after  he  had  watched  in  silence  for  some 
time.  "  This  exhibition  is  extraordinary,  riest-ce 
pas  ?  " 

George  had  watched  it  too,  but  he  made  no 
remark. 

"  What  exhibition  ? "  asked  Marcel,  coming  to  a 
standstill.  "  I  never  go  to  exhibitions." 

"Really,  my  dear  friend,  you  do  not  need  to," 
said  the  Duke,  cheerfully. 

With  all  his  respect  for  Marcel's  genius,  he  was 
no  lover  of  this  young,  uncouth  being  who  treated  a 
lady's  boudoir  as  if  it  were  an  animal's  den. 

"A  mannerless  cub,"  he  called  Marcel,  and  often 
wondered  how  George  put  up  with  him. 

Marcel  seized  his  hat,  bowed  quickly,  and  un- 
ceremoniously disappeared.  He  found  it  impossible 
to  stay  there  in  that  quiet  atmosphere,  with  his  brain 
in  this  state  of  wild  turmoil.  He  must  do  something 
— action,  action,  that  was  what  he  needed.  He  must 
find  Ivan. 

The  cold  air  revived  him,  and  a  touch  of  snow  in 
his  face  had  a  sobering  effect  on  his  fevered  pulses. 

His  thoughts  became  clearer. 

After  all,  why  should  not  he  go  to  the  police  and 
lay  the  case  before  them  ?  That  could  not  in  any 
way  increase  the  danger.  As  he  was  thinking  this 
some  one  saluted  him,  and  he  saw  beside  him  an 
acquaintance  of  his  in  the  private  police  force. 

"  The  very  man,"  he  said  to  himself.  He  seized 
this  newcomer — Louis  Chacot — by  the  arm  excitedly, 
and  poured  out  a  rapid,  somewhat  unintelligible 
stream  of  questions. 

"  What  do  you  do  in  the  case  of  any  one  being 
lost — a  man  or  a  woman,  for  instance — how  do  you 
act  ? " 

"That  wholly  depends,  my  friend,"  said  Louis 
Chacot,  "  in  what  way  they  are  lost.  Have  they  lost 
themselves  ?  Have  they  been  lost  ?  Do  they  know 
they  are  lost  ?  " 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  185 

Marcel  stared  blankly  at  him. 

"  Or  have  they  been  kidnapped  ? "  continued 
Chacot. 

"  Kidnapped  !     But  he  is  an  old  man." 

"Still,  he  might  be  kidnapped  for  a  purpose," 
said  Chacot ;  "  that,  I  assure  you,  is  the  commonest 
reason  for  disappearance." 

"  But  why — what  object  ?  "  exclaimed  Marcel. 
"  Why  should  they  kidnap  him  ? " 

"  To  get  something  out  of  him,"  Chacot  replied. 

"  He  has  no  money — he  is  poor,"  said  Marcel. 

"  Then  perhaps  he  knows  something,"  said  Chacot. 
"  Perhaps  he  knows  something,"  he  repeated  mean- 
ingly. "When  people  know  things  they  are  invalu- 
able. In  my  experience  I  have  never  known  any 
one  kidnapped  yet  who  had  not  much  money  or 
else — knew  something." 

Man  Dieu  /  If  they  make  him  talk  !  Could  that 
be  it  ?  Had  some  one  got  hold  of  him  and  taken 
him  away  and  were  they  dragging  the  whole  thing 
out  of  him  ?  His  excited  fancy  saw  a  picture  of  Ivan 
with  a  glass  of  absinthe  in  front  of  him — talking — 
talking 

Chacot  interrupted  him. 

"  Have  you  seen  this  ? "  he  said.  He  drew  a 
paper  from  his  pocket,  and,  looking  through  it  care- 
fully, found  the  paragraph  he  required.  He  laid  his 
finger  upon  it  and  showed  it  to  Marcel. 

It  seemed  to  the  inventor  as  he  read  that  para- 
graph that  the  skies  dropped  and  the  foundations 
of  the  earth  trembled  under  his  feet. 

"To  be  a  genius  is  great  luck.  Who  would 
be  foolish  enough  to  deny  it  ?  Is  it  not  what  we  all 
want — we  clever  ones  ?  Yet  it  is  denied  us.  The 
fates  insist  that  we  shall  stop  at  being  merely  clever. 
But  there  is  such  a  thing  as  genius.  There  is  a  man 
who  succeeds.  For  instance,  our  young,  brilliant, 
popular  idol — M.  Marcel  Fleur.  Everything  he 
attempts  thrives.  Failure  passes  him  by.  The  eyes 


1 86  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

of  Europe  are  fixed  upon  him,  and  Paris  has  given 
her  heart  as  well  as  her  intellectual  reverence.  It  is 
probably  on  account  of  this  adoration  and  admiration 
that  the  brilliant  inventor  is  not  altogether  exempt 
from  the  passing  attacks  of  calumny  and  spite  which 
are  the  lot  of  all  great  men.  He  is  deaf  and  blind  to 
it  all.  He  is  too  great  to  hear — too  great  to  see. 
When  whispers  go  circulating  about  his  fame  and 
voices  ask  spitefully,  '  Who  helps  him  with  his  work  ? 
...  Be  sure  he  doesn't  do  it  all  himself/  he  is  sub- 
limely indifferent,  and  goes  on  his  course  like  an 
emperor  or  a  god." 

He  handed  the  paper  back  to  Chacot  in  silence. 

"Very  amusing,  n'est-ce pas ?  I  must  be  off,"  he 
said  quietly. 

"  How  about  your  old  man  ?  "  asked  Chacot.     . 

"  Oh,  that — that  was  only  imaginary,"  said  Marcel. 
"  If  one  invents,  one  must  be  imaginary.  Au  revoir" 
and  he  went  his  way  quickly,  afraid  that  Chacot  would 
notice  his  agitation. 

Meanwhile  a  little  blue  note  with  portentous  words 
was  speeding  along  its  pneumatic  course. 

Marcel  had  just  entered  the  laboratory  when  it 
arrived.  He  took  it  in  his  shaking  hands,  and  looked 
wildly  at  the  signature.  It  was  from  Mrs.  Packin- 
thorp.  Whatever  did  she  want,  of  all  the  people  in 
the  world  ? 

What  on  earth  did  this  mean  ?  What  could  she 
have  of  the  utmost  importance  to  tell  him  ?  The 
wording  seemed  almost  threatening !  How  absurd  ! 
It  was  his  ridiculous  nerves,  overstrained  by  this 
trouble  about  Ivan,  and  that  horrible  paragraph  that 
Louis  Chacot  had  showed  him. 

He  threw  the  note  aside  angrily. 

He  would  not  go  ! 

For  a  few  moments  he  sat  thinking.  "  Something 
of  the  utmost  importance  (to  you)."  The  words 
repeated  themselves  over  and  over  again  in  his 
brain. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  187 

Perhaps  after  all  he  had  better  go.  Yes,  it  was 
stupid,  but  he  would  go.  Who  could  tell  what  this 
woman  might  want,  or  might  have  done  ? 

Perhaps — perhaps  she  knew  something  of  Ivan's 
disappearance,  and  the  horrible  truth  was  that  if  he 
did  not  find  Ivan  soon  he  would  not  be  able  to  go  on. 
The  plans  of  the  new  airship  were  ready,  thanks  to 
Ivan's  assistance,  but  there  were  a  hundred  and  one 
details  that  Marcel  knew  he  never  could  successfully 
cope  with  if  he  were  to  be  deprived  of  Ivan's  brain. 

He  rose  quickly,  and  throwing  on  his  great  astra- 
khan-lined coat  with  its  enormous  collar,  so  well 
known  by  the  Parisians  and  all  frequenters  of  the 
boulevards  with  their  caricatures  of  him  and  their 
postcards,  he  went  out  into  the  street.  He  hailed  an 
open  taximeter-cab  as  it  passed,  and,  jumping  in, 
was  quickly  borne  away  to  his  destination  along  the 
muddy  boulevards. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  cab  jolted  along  on  its  way.  Marcel  was  a 
personage  easily  recognisable  to  the  crowd,  and  many 
were  the  glances  thrown  at  him  as  he  passed  swiftly 
by.  Only  once  was  there  a  block  in  the  traffic  as 
they  went  across  a  crowded  street,  and  as  the  driver 
pulled  up  a  camelot  put  his  dirty  hand  on  the  cab 
door  and  cried  to  his  comrades  :  "  Tiens  !  C'est  la 
Fleur ! "  One  of  the  others  called  out,  laughing : 
"  Where  did  you  find  the  secret,  m'sieur  ?  " 

The  words  struck  Marcel  forcibly.  Did  they 
mean  anything?  Was  the  public  mind  getting  as 
suspicious  as  all  that  ?  Rumours  might  have  reached 
even  the  poor  people. 

But  no — it  was  probably  only  a  joke,  and  signified 
nothing.  Everybody  knew  that  he  had  discovered 
the  secret  of  the  air,  and  the  words  did  not  necessarily 
mean  anything  more. 

This  conscience  of  his,  he  told  himself,  magnified 
everything.  Nevertheless  he  was  glad  when  the  mass 
of  vehicles  slowly  began  to  move,  and  at  last  they 
were  speeding  on  their  way.  In  a  few  minutes  they 
reached  the  house,  and  Marcel  quickly  made  his  way 
up  to  the  De  Rigos's  apartments. 

He  was  shown  straight  to  Countess  de  Rigos's 
boudoir,  an  exquisite  room  of  purple  and  silver,  fur- 
nished with  only  a  few  pieces,  but  with  an  almost 
barbaric  touch.  This  was  the  only  room  that  had 
been  altered  in  the  apartment  which  she  and  De 
Rigos  had  taken  over  from  an  American  millionaire. 
She  had  furnished  it  herself  in  shades  of  purple,  deep 

1 88 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  189 

mauve,  and  cream  colour ;  great  Oriental  cushions 
lay  on  the  floor  by  the  open  fireplace,  and  in  the  half- 
light,  with  the  glow  of  the  ruddy  flames  upon  her,  the 
Countess  sat  on  one  of  these,  picturesquely,  looking 
into  the  fire  as  he  entered. 

She  made,  as  usual,  a  charming  picture,  with  her 
eye  for  theatrical  effect.  This  was  a  touch  she  never 
neglected  :  often  so  much  depended  on  lighting  and 
general  effects,  she  told  herself,  and  combined  with 
cleverness  and  a  little  luck  one  could  attain  almost 
anything.  To-day  she  was  wearing  a  gown  of  deep 
orange  colour,  shot  with  purple,  which  seemed  to 
belong  to  the  room  and  the  firelight,  so  cleverly 
had  it  been  chosen. 

"  Cher,  Monsieur  Fleur !  How  charming  !  "  she 
exclaimed,  turning  towards  him  with  outstretched 
hands.  "  I  simply  can't  get  up  to  welcome  you.  I'm 
so  comfortable  down  here.  Come,"  she  said,  hold- 
ing his  hand  softly  with  her  white  fingers,  "  do  sit 
down  here  by  the  fire  on  this  other  cushion,  and  let 
us  chat  and  be  quite  informal.  My  husband  is  out. 
I  am  so  dull.  Now  tell  me  all  the  news.  It  is  so 
seldom  that  an  ordinary  mortal  like  myself  gets  a 
chance  to  talk  to  such  a  celebrated  person  as  the  most- 
talked-of  aeronaut  of  the  day,  that  I  must  make  the 
most  of  it." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  he  said  slowly,  leaning  his 
arm  on  the  cushioned  rail  in  front  of  the  fire,  and 
looking  at  her  intently. 

"  Kind !  Oh  no,  I  am  not  really,  at  least  not  in 
this  case,  for  here  am  I  wasting  your  time  while  you 
might  be  doing  something  wonderful  in  your  labora- 
tory, and  enjoying  yourself,  instead  of  having  to  put 
up  with  my  chatter,"  she  said  with  a  touch  of 
coquetry,  glancing  at  him  for  a  moment  with  a  charm- 
ing smile. 

"  I  assure  you,"  he  answered  quickly,  "  I  could  not 
be  spending  my  time  more  profitably.  This  is  rest 
after  my  labours." 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

He  looked  at  her.  She  certainly  was  a  handsome 
woman,  and  clever  too.  At  this  moment,  the  grace 
and  abandon  of  her  pose  were  particularly  charming 
as  she  leant  against  the  rail ;  one  white  arm,  from 
which  the  loose  sleeve  fell  back,  was  extended  along 
the  cushioned  ledge,  the  taper  fingers  almost  touching 
his  coat  sleeve.  A  great  band  of  turquoises  and 
diamonds  set  in  dull  gold  on  her  wrist  caught  the 
glint  of  the  dancing  flames. 

"  How  sweet  of  you  to  put  it  like  that,"  she 
murmured. 

Her  mind  was  working  quickly,  though  apparently 
she  was  merely  gazing  lazily  into  the  fire.  This  might 
be  just  a  little  part  of  her  revenge  upon  Theodora 
and  her  husband.  Why  should  Marcel  not  transfer 
his  affections  to  her,  at  any  rate  in  appearance,  for  she 
was  by  no  means  certain  that  even  her  powers  could 
vanquish  such  admiration  as  she  knew  he  had  for  the 
beautiful  Lady  Allingham. 

"  What  are  you  doing  now  ?  Are  you  making 
some  wonderful  new  experiments,  or  have  you  already 
done  so,  and  created  something  even  more  amazing 
to  astonish  us  all  ?  "  she  asked  lightly.  , 

Marcel  paused  a  moment  before  replying.  What 
had  she  summoned  him  so  peremptorily  for  ?  Surely 
not  to  talk  about  airships.  He  had  quickly  decided 
that  she  did  not  seem  to  know  anything  of  Ivan. 
Her  tone  was  coquettish  and  flattering,  not  threaten- 
ing. "  Heavens,"  he  thought  suddenly,  "  the  woman 
has  asked  me  here  to  begin  a  flirtation  with  her. 
This  is  amusing,  indeed." 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  experiments  have  ceased 
for  the  moment.  I  do  not  mind  telling  you,"  he  said, 
playing  up  to  her  with  a  meaning  glance,  "that  I 
have  just  completed  the  plans  of  the  airship  for  the 
French  Government." 

"  How  very  splendid  ! "  exclaimed  Countess  de 
Rigos,  enthusiastically.  "  I  think  you  are  so  wise  not 
to  take  that  stupid  pose  so  many  people  go  in  for 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  191 

who  have  genius — of  being  above  money  matters. 
Ah !  you  clever  men — what  a  lot  of  secrets  you  must 
have !  What  a  lot  of  things  there  always  are  behind 
the  scenes  which  only  a  few  know  of." 

Carelessly  laying  her  hand  on  his,  she  pressed  it 
gently  as  she  spoke  the  last  few  words. 

Marcel  started. 

What  did  that  mean  ?     What  did  she  know  ? 

"You  see,  I  am  one  of  the  favoured  few  in  this 
case.  It  is  so  charming  for  an  ordinary  woman  to  be 
let  into  such  a  secret — so  fascinating,"  she  murmured. 

Marcel  sat  in  petrified  silence.  So  she  knew  about 
Ivan.  And  it  was  for  this  that  she  had  summoned 
him.  She  was  going  to  make  her  own  terms.  Doubt- 
less she  wanted  to  use  him  in  some  way.  He  could 
not  speak ;  for  a  moment  he  was  incapable  almost 
of  thinking. 

Meanwhile  the  Countess  was  about  to  proceed  in 
her  soft,  musical  voice  along  her  lying  way.  She  had 
determined  to  tell  him  that  her  dear  Theodora  had 
confided  in  her,  and  that  she  no  more  loved  him  at 
all,  and  had  told  her  many  things  (which  of  course 
were  lies)  about  him.  A  plan  was  rapidly  forming 
in  her  head  wherewith  she  would  make  this  strange 
and  impressionable  man's  love  turn  to  hate. 

There  was  a  dead  silence. 

"  Like  all  women,"  she  said,  smiling  slowly,  "  I 
adore  secrets,  and  when  I  stumbled  on  yours  quite 
by  chance,  I  admit  that  I  was  delighted,  and " 

Marcel  could  stand  it  no  longer.  He  rose 
brusquely,  and  in  a  voice  choking  with  fear  and 
anger,  exclaimed,  "Tell  me,  what  do  you  know? 
How  much  do  you  know  ?  Enough  of  this  beating 
about  the  bush.  Do  you,  or  do  you  not,  know  where 
Ivan  is  ? " 

It  was  now  the  turn  of  the  woman  crouching  by 
the  fire  in  utter  amazement  to  wonder  what  the  other 
meant.  Ivan !  Ivan  !  Where  had  she  seen  that 
name  in  connection  with  his  ?  Ah,  the  letter !  Then 


192  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

there  was  something  else  he  was  trying  to  hide. 
She  neither  moved  nor  expressed  any  emotion,  but 
she  was  on  the  alert.  Here  was  something  new. 

A  secret  evidently  of  far  more  importance  than 
her  stupid  little  one  about  his  infatuation  for  Theo- 
dora was  hidden  here.  She  must  ferret  it  out ! 

"  My  dear  Monsieur  Fleur,"  she  said  at  last  calmly, 
"do  not  get  so  excited,  I  beg  you.  Let  us  be  calm 
and  talk  quietly  and  reasonably  together.  I  will  be 
quite  frank  with  you  and  tell  you  all,  and  then  you 
will  see  what  a  perfectly  harmless  person  I  am,  and 
one  who  only  wishes  you  well."  She  paused  slightly. 
"  You  see,  a  letter  came  to  me  by  mistake,  obviously 
put  into  the  wrong  envelope,  and  I  read  it — which, 
perhaps,  I  should  not  have  done — but  remember," 
she  said,  smiling  charmingly  like  some  innocent  child, 
"a  woman's  dreadful  curiosity,  and  be  lenient  with 
me.  Thinking  the  note  was  of  importance,  I  traced 
the  person  to  whom  it  was  evidently  addressed " 

"  Theodora,"  ejaculated  Marcel,  with  a  despairing 
gesture. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  sweetly.  "  I  have  the  letter 
here,"  she  added,  rising  and  taking  a  sheet  of  paper 
from  the  folds  of  her  gown. 

"  May  I  see  it  ?  I  cannot  believe  it.  It  is  a  lying 
forgery.  Some  enemy  has  been  trying  to  ruin  me, 
and  sent  it  to  you  on  purpose." 

He  snatched  it  from  her  hand  quickly.  The 
movement  did  not  appear  to  surprise  her  much.  In 
a  moment  he  had  glanced  at  it  and  torn  it  into  a 
hundred  pieces,  throwing  them  into  the  blazing  fire. 

"  Dear  Monsieur  Fleur,  how  rude  !  "  exclaimed 
the  Countess,  sweetly.  "  I  did  so  want  that  copy." 

"Copy!" 

"Yes.  You  were  quite  right.  That  letter  was  a 
forgery.  I  did  it.  The  original  is  far  too  valuable 
to  keep  lying  about  the  house,  so  it  reposes  with 
other  precious  papers  in  my  banker's  keeping !  If 
you  pick  up  that  little  piece  which  is  not  burnt  you 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  193 

will  see  that  the  paper  is  the  same  as  my  own,  which 
is  specially  made  for  me.  Would  you  like  to  try  ?  " 
she  asked,  going  over  to  the  writing-table. 

"  You  fiend  !  "  he  exclaimed  furiously.  "  What 
do  you  want  for  your  silence  ? " 

"  Mon  cher,  Monsieur  Marcel,"  she  replied  sweetly, 
going  up  to  him  and  holding  out  her  hands,  "you 
have  nothing  to  fear  from  me.  All  I  want  is  to  be 
friends.  Friends — remember,"  she  repeated.  "  Now 
you  are  a  little  upset,  and  quite  unnecessarily,  believe 
me.  Go  home  and  think  things  over ;  when  you  are 
calmer  you  will  see  that  fate  has  really  played  you 
quite  a  good  turn  in  sending  you  to  me.  The  secret 
of  Ivan  is  perfectly,  absolutely  safe  in  my  hands. 
Good-bye,"  she  smiled  gently,  leading  him  to  the 
door  as  she  clasped  his  hand. 

He  went  out  stumblingly,  blindly,  overcome  with 
anger  and  a  whirlwind  of  conflicting  thoughts  not 
untouched  with  fear. 

The  door  had  scarcely  banged  after  him  as  he 
blundered  along  the  corridor  to  the  entrance,  past 
the  manservant  watching  to  show  him  out,  when  a 
smaller  door  let  into  the  panelling  on  the  other  side 
of  the  room  behind  the  piano  opened  and  an  elderly 
woman  appeared.  She  was  evidently  a  servant,  but 
there  was  something  in  her  entrance,  despite  her  air 
of  frightened  humility,  which  gave  the  idea  that  she 
was  also  a  person  who  was  quite  sure  of  her  position. 
She  stood  there  silently,  her  lean  hands  folded  over 
one  another  as  the  Countess  turned  to  her  with  an 
interrogating  smile. 

"  The  gentleman  seemed  in  a  great  state — a  great 
state,"  said  the  woman  slowly. 

She  had  a  peculiar  trick  of  repeating  her  words, 
which  gave  unthinking  people  the  impression  that 
she  was  foolish,  a  deduction  they  sometimes  had 
occasion  to  repent  afterwards. 

She  was  rather  under  medium  height,  with  lean 
and  hard  features ;  her  mouth  formed  a  line  across 

O 


194  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

her  lined  and  wrinkled  face,  but  her  humble  air 
covered  much  of  this.  She  stooped  slightly,  which 
made  her  look  older  than  she  really  was,  and  this, 
combined  with  her  thin,  straight  grey  hair,  and  life- 
less, dull  eyes,  made  up  the  curious  and  unpleasant 
personality  of  Mrs.  Hawkins.  The  Countess  had 
introduced  her  into  the  new  household  as  her  old 
nurse,  who  had  been  in  the  family  all  her  life,  and 
whom  she  was  delighted  to  shelter  in  her  old  age. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  Hawkins  had,  it  is  true,  been 
a  nurse,  but  only  for  a  little  while,  and  the  Countess 
had  run  up  against  her  at  Monte  Carlo  some  years 
back  when  she  was  ill,  and  she  (Mrs.  Hawkins)  had 
since  then  been  of  great  use  to  her  in  various  little 
ways,  for  the  woman  in  her  way  was  devoted  to  her 
mistress. 

The  Countess  de  Rigos  smiled  on. 

"Yes,  Hawk,  he  does  seem  upset,  doesn't  he? 
But  we  will  upset  him  more,  you  and  I,  before  we 
have  done — perhaps,"  she  added  musingly. 

Mrs.  Hawkins's  thin  lips  smiled,  showing  her 
yellow  teeth.  She  looked  a  little  like  some  animal 
when  she  had  that  expression  on  her  thin  face. 

"  I  dare  say,"  she  said  grimly. 

For  a  moment  the  Countess  stood  silently,  watch- 
ing the  dancing  flames.  "There  is  much  to  be 
done.  .  .  ." 

"You  can  count  on  me,"  said  Mrs.  Hawkins,  "if 
I  can  be  of  any  use ?  "  deprecatingly. 

"Yes,  I  kthink  you  can,"  replied  the  Countess, 
continuing  gaily,  "I  know  that  I  can  count  on  you 
for  any  little  acts  of  villainy  I  may  contemplate. 
What  a  comfort  you  are!  I  have  a  great  scheme 
on  hand  now.  I  have  to  pay  out  a  woman  who 
has  offended  me,  and  I'm  going  to  do  it  well  and 
thoroughly." 

"  I'm  sure,"  murmured  the  gaunt  old  woman,  her 
lifeless  drab  eyes  staring  dully  before  her,  "  I'm  with 
you,  dearie." 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  195 

When  she  had  gone  the  Countess  went  to  her  desk 
and  wrote  another  note  to  Marcel  Fleur. 

"DEAR  MONSIEUR  FLEUR': — 

"  Ignace  and  I  will  be  so  delighted  if  you 
will  come  and  dine  with  us  quite  informally — just 
ourselves — next  Thursday.  .  ,  .  There  are  so  many 
things  we  have  in  common,  so  many  tastes  and 
opinions ;  it  will  be  such  pleasure  to  us  both  if  you 
will  come  that  we  are  not  going  to  ask  any  one 
else,  so  that  we  may  have  you  all  to  ourselves, 
though,  indeed,  it's  sadly  greedy  of  us  to  ask  such  a 
thing  of  so  busy  and  run-after  a  personage.  .  .  .  We 
dine  at  half-past  eight.  .  .  .  You  must  come ;  in  fact, 
we  simply  can't  take  '  no '  for  an  answer." 

She  laughed  as  she  folded  the  letter,  saying  softly 
to  herself,  "  The  sleeping-draught  is  the  next  thing  !  " 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE  pale  winter  sun  shone  through  the  pink  silk 
blinds  of  the  luxurious  bedroom  as  the  Countess  de 
Rigos  lay  back  against  the  pile  of  silken  cushions, 
sipping  her  morning  chocolate  and  opening  her 
numerous  letters. 

She  had  been  very  late  the  night  before,  and, 
feeling  a  little  fagged,  followed  her  usual  rule  of  allow- 
ing herself  to  be  lazy  until  her  abundant  energy 
returned  and  she  felt  a  wish  to  get  up.  She  made 
quite  a  charming  picture,  in  spite  of  her  fatigue,  as 
she  sat  propped  up,  her  raven  hair  and  pale  face 
against  the  soft  pillows.  Her  maid  had  thrown  an 
exquisite  wrapper  of  pink  silk  shot  with  copper-colour 
around  her  shoulders,  and  she  really  looked  adorable, 
as  her  husband  had  exclaimed  when  he  had  come  in 
hurriedly  in  answer  to  her  summons,  fearing  that  she 
might  be  ill.  Everything  in  the  room  was  in  harmony 
with  a  wonderful  scheme  of  colouring,  pink  shading 
into  a  red  golden  bronze  and  cream  colour.  A  huge 
fire  burnt  brightly  in  the  grate,  for  the  morning  was 
very  cold,  and  its  light  danced  upon  the  bronze 
fittings. 

The  sun  streamed  through  one  of  the  uncurtained 
windows,  catching  a  hundred  colours  in  the  old 
copper-framed  mirrors  with  their  wonderful  designs. 
Through  an  open  door  a  glimpse  was  caught  of  a 
superb  marble  bathroom,  where  once  again  the  fittings 
were  all  of  copper.  This  in  its  turn  gave  into  the 
Countess's  dressing-room,  into  which  the  small  door 
behind  the  piano  in  the  purple  room  opened. 

196 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  197 

"  Tell  Mrs.  Hawkins  I  want  to  see  her,"  she  said 
to  the  maid,  dismissing  her,  and  than  lay  back  with 
closed  eyes.  When  she  opened  them  a  few  moments 
later  she  found  the  nurse  had  entered  silently  and 
stood  watching  her. 

"Give  me  some  more  chocolate,  Hawk,  there's  a 
dear,  and  sit  down  and  listen  to  me,"  said  the  Countess, 
smiling. 

Mrs.  Hawkins  did  as  she  was  bid,  and  then  sat 
waiting  with  folded  hands  in  perfect  silence. 

She  always  looked  so  respectable,  quiet,  and 
uninteresting,  not  to  say  foolish,  that  no  one  ever 
glanced  at  her  a  second  time  unless  by  chance  they 
knew  her  or  ever  had  dealings  with  her.  Her  dull, 
drab-coloured  eyes  watched  intently  the  face  of  the 
beautiful  woman  on  the  luxurious  bed  with  its  delicate 
lace  covers. 

"  I  want  your  help.  There  is  a  lot  to  do,  and  only 
you  and  I  can  do  it,"  the  Countess  continued  slowly, 
her  low-toned  voice  rising  and  falling  melodiously,  as 
she  softly  laid  out  her  plans  and  suggestions  before 
this  silent,  listening  woman,  whose  only  sign  of 
attention  was  to  rub  her  bony  hands  together  gently 
as  she  noticed  some  special  point.  At  last  the  low 
voice  ceased. 

"  A  very  good  idea — very  good  idea,"  said  Hawkins. 
"Old  Hawk  '11  see  you  through,  dearie,"  she  added 
quickly,  as  she  made  the  old  motion  with  her  restless 
hands.  It  was  only  when  she  was  deeply  interested 
in  something  that  she  dropped  her  acquired  refined 
accent  and  returned  to  the  Cockney  of  her  birth  and 
its  slang. 

"  I  think  that  will  do,  don't  you  ?  " 

Hawkins  nodded  silently  and  sat  for  a  moment  in 
thought.  Her  mistress  watched  her.  There  was  no 
expression  on  her  hard,  lined  face,  with  its  high 
cheek-bones  and  stupid  dull  eyes,  to  tell  what  was 
passing  through  her  mind,  but  the  Countess  waited  in 
patience. 


193  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  You  shall  have  it  by  the  time  you  dress  for 
dinner,"  Hawkins  said  at  last.  "  I  can  carry  out  all 
my  part  easily,  only — what  will  I  get  out  of  it  ?  " 

"A  hundred  pounds,  and  in  advance,"  answered 
the  Countess,  quickly. 

"  A  bargain,"  replied  Hawkins. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

"  LET  us  all  go  and  have  coffee  in  my  room,"  suggested 
the  Countess,  rising.  "  It  is  so  cosy  there,  and  you 
can  talk  airships  and  things  to  your  hearts'  content 
while  I  strum  on  the  piano  and  amuse  myself." 

The  two  men  willingly  acquiesced,  and  they  all 
went  into  the  delightful  purple  and  silver  room  to- 
gether. The  Count  and  Marcel  sank  into  two  low 
armchairs  by  the  fire  and  began  to  talk  lazily.  They 
had  both  had  a  long  and  tiring  day,  and  De  Rigos 
made  no  pretence  of  hiding  the  fact  that  he  felt 
sleepy.  His  wife  protested  laughingly  that  he  was 
being  very  rude  to  their  guest  and  turned  to  the  open 
piano. 

"  I  will  sing  you  a  lullaby,"  she  said  gaily.  "  If 
you  really  want  to  sleep  we  may  as  well  do  the  thing 
in  style.  Monsieur  Fleur,  I  know,  is  too  polite  ;  he 
will  stay  awake  and  listen." 

At  that  moment  a  servant  entered  with  a  silver 
salver. 

"  But  I  will  make  you  some  of  the  Turkish  coffee 
your  souls  love,  first.  My  husband,"  she  said,  turning 
towards  Marcel,  "has  taught  me  the  only  real  and 
true  way  to  do  it,  and  I  look  to  you  for  congratulation 
on  the  result." 

She  busied  herself  at  the  tray  at  the  door  for  a 
few  moments,  with  her  back  to  the  two  men,  intent 
on  their  discussion  of  some  aerial  experiment. 

It  was  easy  work  to  slip  the  contents  of  the  phial 
into  two  of  the  delicate  little  cups  with  their  golden 

199 


200  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

stands,  and  shortly  after,  with  a  charming  smile,  she 
stood  awaiting  their  verdict  as  they  drank  it. 

"  It  is  delicious,"  said  Marcel,  with  enthusiasm, 
draining  his  cup  as  she  struck  a  few  soft  notes  on  the 
piano. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  like  it,"  she  murmured,  casting 
down  her  eyes  that  they  should  not  betray  her 
amusement. 

Softly  she  began  to  sing  a  crooning  Russian 
lullaby.  As  her  ringers  wandered  over  the  keys  after 
the  first  verse  she  looked  up. 

They  were  both  sleeping  soundly ! 

She  rose  very  quietly  and  went  over  to  them. 

They  did  not  move,  and  there  was  silence  except 
for  the  regular  breathing  which  came  from  the  drugged 
sleepers. 

She  touched  their  hands — they  did  not  move  a 
muscle. 

Swiftly  she  went  back  to  the  piano,  and  noise- 
lessly opened  the  little  door  leading  to  her  dressing 
room. 

"  Are  you  there  ? "  she  whispered. 

"Yes,"  came  the  reply,  and  the  form  of  Mrs. 
Hawkins  appeared  dimly  in  the  door  way.  She  had 
changed  her  appearance  greatly.  A  plain  but  rich 
dress  was  concealed  by  the  thin  and  dowdy  black 
cloak  she  was  wearing  over  it,  and  beneath  her  large 
hat  she  wore  a  white  wig  which,  together  with  the 
alterations  she  had  made  with  a  little  paint  and 
powder,  made  her  look  quite  a  delightful  old  lady 
when  her  thick  veil  was  raised.  "  Get  the  keys,"  she 
whispered. 

The  Countess  glided  across  the  room,  and  stooping 
over  Marcel,  gently  took  hold  of  the  chain  at  the  end 
of  which  he  kept  the  keys  belonging  to  the  laboratory 
and  his  rooms. 

There  were  two  bunches. 

She  quickly  undid  the  smaller  and  put  it  into  the 
outstretched  waiting  hand. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  201 

The  door  closed  and  she  glided  back  to  the  piano 
and  resumed,  very  softly,  her  playing. 

Mrs.  Hawkins  made  her  way  swiftly  down  the 
back  staircase,  taking  off  her  thin  cloak  in  the  next 
street,  where  she  hailed  a  passing  cab  and  gave  the 
man  an  address  near  the  laboratory,  with  injunctions 
to  drive  fast. 

Meanwhile  the  Countess  played  on. 

It  was  a  trying  ordeal,  and,  though  her  nerves 
were  of  iron  when  there  was  anything  she  wished  to 
carry  out,  she  felt  the  strain  more  and  more  as  the 
time  passed  by. 

It  seemed  hours.  Every  moment  she  expected 
the  two  men  to  wake  up.  The  clock  on  the  mantel- 
piece she  had  stopped  at  six  o'clock  that  afternoon 
purposely. 

On  and  on  the  white,  taper  fingers  moved  over 
the  ivory  keys. 

Suddenly  a  light  tap  upon  the  door  at  her  side 
sounded.  The  player  did  not  move.  She  had  full 
command  of  herself,  strung  up  as  she  was.  She  softly 
went  on  playing  with  her  right  hand,  and  pushed 
open  the  door  with  her  left. 

"  Did  you  succeed  ? " 

"  Yes,"  came  the  reply  in  a  whisper  from  the  next 
room. 

The  Countess  glided  over  to  the  two  motionless 
figures  by  the  fire.  Long  and  intently  she  looked  at 
them.  Neither  moved  ;  their  breathing  was  still 
even  and  deep.  Mrs.  Hawkins  continued  in  a 
whisper. 

"  There  is  lots  of  time.  They  ought  not  to  wake 
for  ten  minutes  yet.  Still,  hurry !  One  can  never  tell ! 
Here  are  the  keys,  and — take  this,  and  if  they  stir 
give  them  each  three  whiffs,  no  more,  mind,"  added 
the  nurse,  handing  her  through  the  doorway  a  little 
bottle  containing  chloroform. 

She  did  not  come  into  the  room,  but  watched 
through  the  half-open  door,  her  mistress's  movements 


202  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

as  she  glided  again  noiselessly  towards  the  two 
sleeping  men. 

De  Rigos  appeared  to  be  wholly  unconscious  and 
sleeping  peacefully  still. 

She  turned  to  Marcel. 

Gently  she  drew  out  the  chain  with  its  bunch  of 
keys,  and  holding  ready  in  her  hand  the  chloroform, 
she  fixed  the  second  bunch  on  again  and  slipped 
them  back  into  his  pocket. 

As  she  did  so  he  stirred  ever  so  slightly  in  his 
sleep.  She  had  only  just  been  in  time,  and  a  cold 
shiver  ran  through  her  as  she  realised  her  narrow 
escape.  But  the  fates  seemed  to  be  on  her  side. 
A  minute  later  and  he  would  have  been  roused  even 
by  her  gentle  touch. 

Quick  as  lightning  she  handed  the  chloroform 
back  to  Mrs.  Hawkins. 

"  Go  on  playing,  dearie,"  whispered  the  old  woman, 
"  and  give  a  sudden  crash  to  wake  'em  up.  See  you 
later  on." 

With  that  she  noiselessly  closed  the  door. 

The  Countess's  fingers  glided  over  the  keys.  Then 
a  triumphant  note  sounded  loudly  through  her  sooth- 
ing chords.  She  was  playing  more  and  more  forte, 
but  in  vain.  She  could  not  wake  the  sleepers. 
Suddenly  she  knocked  a  book  on  to  the  keys  with  a 
mighty  bang. 

"What  on  earth  was  that?"  said  the  Count, 
turning  drowsily  and  blinking. 

"  I'm  afraid  it  was  my  clumsiness,"  murmured  his 
wife  without  looking  round.  "  I  let  this  score  of 
'  Tristan  and  his  beloved  Iseulte '  fall  on  to  the  keys." 
She  added  flippantly,  "  And  it  is  as  heavy  as  the  two 
singers  themselves  always  are  !  I  am  so  sorry  !  You 
were  asleep,  I  am  sure  of  it.  You  were  much  too 
quiet  to  be  only  listening  to  my  performance.  Own 
up,  dear,  and  apologise  to  me  and  to  M.  Fleur,  who  I 
know  is  much  too  polite  and  fond  of  music — even 
mine,"  she  laughed. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  203 

She  knew  that  the  longer  she  kept  talking  the 
better.  It  gave  Marcel  time  to  collect  himself.  At 
last  he  spoke. 

"  I  have  been  enjoying  your  music  more  than  I  can 
say,"  he  said;  "you  played  most  beautifully.  You 
are  one  of  those  lucky  people  who  have  that  inde- 
finable '  something '  in  their  playing.  The  Count 
was  'dreadfully  tired,  and  your  music  soothed  him. 
I  watched  him  going  off  gradually  into  the  land  of 
dreams.  And  then  I  listened  in  silence." 

"  How  dear  of  you,"  she  answered.  "  And  that 
is  the  greatest  compliment  you  could  pay  me  !  " 

She  had  listened  to  his  story  with  a  smile  of 
delight. 

His  easy  lying  appealed  to  her  greatly,  and  he 
thought  her  look  of  pleasure  arose  from  the  compli- 
ments he  had  paid  to  her  playing,  and  was  not 
unpleased  at  the  feeling  that  he  had  been  able  to 
deceive  her  so  very  easily.  She  laughed  on  brightly 
and  ran  her  fingers  over  the  keys  as  she  jumped  up. 
She  could  afford  to  be  generous  and  let  him  have  his 
little  satisfaction.  She  held  his  secret. 

"  Well,  anyway,"  she  exclaimed,  going  over  to  her 
husband  and  taking  his  arm  fondly,  "  you  were  only 
asleep  ten  minutes  at  the  most,  so  what  does  it 
matter  ? " 

Marcel  lazily  drew  his  watch  out  to  examine  the 
time  and  see  for  himself  how  long  De  Rigos  had 
slumbered.  The  hands  were  at  ten.  It  had  stopped  ! 
It  was  ten  o'clock  when  they  came  in  here  from 
dinner. 

"  My  watch  has  stopped  ! "  he  exclaimed.  She 
knew  that  very  well.  When  she  manipulated  the 
keys  she  also  adjusted  his  watch. 

He  glanced  up  at  the  mantelpiece.  The  little 
gold  clock  there  announced,  in  the  shameless  manner 
of  little  gold  empire  clocks,  that  it  was  now  six  o'clock. 

"  Oh  !  that,"  cried  the  Countess,  gaily.  "  Don't 
take  any  notice  of  that.  It's  never  even  set  right 


204  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

now.     We  leave  it   severely  alone,   as  a  punishment 
for  its  mad  vagaries." 

"  What  time  do  you  make  it  ? "  Marcel  inquired 
of  De  Rigos. 

"  I  ?  Oh,  you  have  my  watch,  dear,"  said  the 
Count  to  his  wife.  "  I  lent  it  to  you,  you  remember." 

"Yes,  it  was  sweet  of  you,"  she  replied  smilingly. 
"  You  trusted  me  with  'a  treasure  that  I  know  you 
really  hate  to  see  out  of  your  sight  But  then,  think 
of  the  object." 

"  What  object  ?  "  asked  Marcel. 

"  The  Turkish  coffee,"  nodded  the  Countess.  "  A 
question  of  minutes — a  question  of  seconds — makes 
all  the  difference  to  that !  Really,"  she  added,  with  a 
demure  little  laugh,  "  I  don't  believe  that  Ignace 
would  have  trusted  me  with  his  watch  for  any  other 
reason  than  that." 

As  she  spoke  she  drew  the  watch  in  question  from 
the  front  of  her  gown.  She  bent  over  it.  "  It's 
exactly  half-past  ten,"  she  said. 

Then  she  looked  up  brightly  at  the  two  men,  and 
smiled  on  one  first  and  then  on  the  other,  adding, 
in  a  soothing  voice,  "  So  you  were  only  naughty 
enough  to  sleep  for  two  minutes !  It  couldn't  have 
been  more." 

She  turned  to  De  Rigos,  and  suggested  they 
should  play  a  game  called  Skerra — the  most  fascina- 
ting game  in  the  whole  world — and  such  a  brain  rest. 
"  Ignace  taught  it  to  me,"  she  told  Marcel,  "  and  I— 
even  I — stupid  as  I  am,  picked  it  up  quite  quickly,  so 
I'm  sure  you  won't  have  the  slightest  trouble,  M.  Fleur, 
with  your  great  mathematical  brain,  that  is  always 
tackling  problems." 

As  she  spoke,  almost  without  seeming  to  move, 
she  was  noiselessly  opening  a  card  table,  there 
between  the  men.  She  reached  back  and  brought 
cards  from  behind  her.  A  box  of  counters  was 
quickly  placed  beside  the  cards.  She  was  so  graceful. 
She  moved  like  a  snake.  One  arm  reached  lazily 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  205 

out — one   here,   another  there.     Ignace  and  Marcel 
watched  her,  fascinated. 

"  Now,  here  we  are,"  she  cried  brightly.  "  Draw 
your  chair  forward,  Ignace  ;  you,  M.  Fleur,  stay 
where  you  are.  We'll  come  nearer  you.  There, 
that's  right.  Now,  we  are  all  comfy,  aren't  we  ? 
Let  me  see,  have  we  got  everything  you  want  ?  Oh, 
no !  You  two  men !  I  forgot  you.  Drinks,"  she 
added  merrily,  and,  scarcely  seeming  to  move,  she 
pressed  a  bell  and  summoned  a  manservant. 

Marcel  and  De  Rigos  had  no  inclination  to  dis- 
agree with  her.  A  beatific  sensation  of  quiescent 
happiness,  the  results  of  the  drug,  lingered  in  their 
brains.  To  be  lazy  here  by  the  fire,  while  this  black- 
haired  siren  talked  to  them  so  sweetly,  was  simply 
idyllic.  They  drank  a  little  of  the  special  drink 
prepared  for  them  by  the  Countess's  white  hands,  to 
the  making  of  which  went  various  liqueurs — cognac, 
vermouth,  amara,  orange  flower,  soda-water,  and 
cracked  ice.  The  world  grew  brighter  as  they  drank. 

"  Do  you  like  that  ? "  she  asked  Marcel  with  a 
friendly  smile. 

"  Delicious,"  he  replied,  "  heavenly." 

"  That's  right ;  I  needn't  ask  Ignace.  He — foolish 
boy — thinks  everything  that  I  give  him  is  nectar." 

She  laid  her  white  hand  on  De  Rigos's  arm  and 
smiled. 

She  was  laying  herself  out  to  fascinate  these  two 
men  :  all  her  wiles  were  in  requisition  ;  and  she  was 
succeeding.  She  knew  that.  She  realised  quite  well 
that  both  were  under  her  charm.  For  the  moment, 
at  any  rate. 

"  Now,  let's  play,"  she  said  brightly.  "  I've  put 
the  cards  out,  and  everything's  ready.  Shall  you 
explain  the  game,  Ignace,  or  shall  I  ? " 

"You." 

Ignace  was  devouring  her  with  his  fathomless 
brown  eyes. 

"  Yes,  you,  please,"  said  Marcel. 


206  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  Really."  She  smiled  as  though  flattered.  "  Then 
I  hope  I  won't  be  stupid.  I  am  not  very  good  at 
cards,  but  I  will  do  my  best  to  save  you,  my  dear, 
lazy  husband." 

She  put  her  elbow  on  the  table  and  leaned  for- 
ward, fixing  her  eyes  on  Marcel  as  she  explained  to 
him  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  game.  She  was  very 
patient.  "  Do  you  understand  ? "  she  kept  saying ; 
if  he  did  not,  she  explained  it  all  over  again  to  him, 
with  admirable  sweetness  and  courtesy. 

"  What  a  treasure  of  a  wife  I've  got !  "  thought  De 
Rigos. 

They  soon  got  into  the  game,  and  the  hours 
slipped  by  unnoticed.  The  Countess  plied  them  with 
drinks,  filled  their  brains  with  her  bright  and  witty 
talk,  flashed  her  eyes  at  them,  smiled  on  them,  and 
dazzled  them  both  completely. 

She,  herself,  lost. 

Marcel  was  the  winner.  "  You've  got  the  beginner's 
luck !  "  said  the  Countess,  sadly,  as  she  watched  him 
sweep  his  little  pile  of  gold  into  his  pocket. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  would  not  allow  herself  to 
win  ;  that  would  have  been  stupid.  It  paid  her  better 
that  Marcel  should  be  put  into  a  very  good  temper 
than  that  she  should  win  a  few  paltry  louis.  So  she 
smiled  whenever  she  lost,  and  never  for  a  moment 
looked  anything  but  beamingly  happy  and  gracious. 

It  was  the  gayest  game  of  cards  imaginable. 

The  air  of  the  beautiful  purple  and  copper- 
coloured  room  rang  with  peals  of  laughter.  The 
Countess  told  them  bright  little  stories  every  now  and 
then,  and  kept  them  all  in  a  merry  mood. 

It  seemed  to  Marcel  one  of  the  most  delightful 
evenings  he  had  ever  spent.  De  Rigos  was  a  charm- 
ing host — so  quiet,  so  well  bred,  and  always  knowing 
exactly  just  what  was  wanted.  Man-like,  Marcel  did 
not  observe  that  it  was  De  Rigos's  wife  who  was 
really  responsible  for  all  the  charm  of  the  entertain- 
ment. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  207 

The  Countess  looked  at  her  watch  at  last  and 
uttered  a  little  cry. 

"  What  hour  of  the  day  do  you  think  it  is  ? "  she 
exclaimed.  "  Three  o'clock  in  the  morning  !  I  can 
scarcely  believe  it !  " 

"  Impossible !  "  cried  Marcel. 

"  I  assure  you,"  said  the  Countess,  laughing. 

She  was  dead  tired  herself  now,  and  it  would  not 
have  surprised  her  if  the  hour  had  been  far  later  even. 
But  she  had  gained  her  ends. 

She  had  kept  the  two  men  playing  until  they  had 
lost  all  idea  of  time. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  when  they  began  the  game  it 
was  past  twelve.  But  in  the  meantime  she  had  put 
Ignace's  watch  right  and  allowed  the  hours  to  return 
to  their  proper  place.  Yes,  she  was  very,  very  tired. 
"  If  I  laugh  any  more  I  shall  go  to  pieces,"  she  said 
to  herself. 

But  she  had  not  dared  let  Marcel  leave  the  house 
and  go  out  into  the  street  when  he  woke  from  his 
drugged  sleep.  The  clocks  there  would  have  betrayed 
her.  He  would  have  seen  at  once  it  was  past  twelve, 
and  not  half-past  ten  ! 

He  was  gone  at  last.  The  lights  were  out  in  the 
purple  room  and  the  Countess  was  sinking  wearily 
into  the  great  white  chair  by  her  dressing-room  fire. 

"  Lock  the  door,  Hawk,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  Yes,  dearie,  I'll  see  to  that.  Hawkll  look  after 
you." 

The  old  woman  drew  the  pins  out  of  her  mistress's 
hair, with  an   incredibly  gentle   movement,  and  the 
long  black  locks  fell  over  the  slender  shoulders  of  the 
figure  in  the  rose-pink  peignoir. 
"  Now  let  me  see  them  all !  " 

Mrs.  Hawkins  glided  noiselessly  to  a  drawer,  un- 
locked it,  and  brought  forward  an  armful  of  documents, 
which  she  placed  in  her  mistress's  lap. 

"  Spray  me  with  that  scent  of  the  Count's,"  mur- 
mured the  latter  languidly.  "  It  makes  one  forget 


208  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

one  lives  in  Europe.  It's  so  barbaric  and  so  deliciously 
sweet  and  sharp  and  soothing,  all  at  once." 

She  was  opening  the  documents  as  she  spoke. 

Suddenly  she  grew  excited.  "  Stop  spraying  me  ! " 
she  cried  sharply.  "  Come  here.  Oh,  Hawk,  Hawk, 
what  a  treasure  you  are !  " 

"  Am  I,  dearie  ?  "  said  Hawkins,  coming  down  on 
her  knees  by  her  mistress,  and  staring  expressionlessly 
with  her  drab  eyes  at  the  documents  in  the  latter's 
long  white  hands. 

"  Rather,"  said  the  Countess. 

She  tapped  the  document  in  her  lap. 

"  This  means — well,  I  scarcely  know  what  it 
means — it  means  such  a  lot,"  she  said  quietly.  "If 
I  chose  to  turn  it  into  money  there's  a  fabulous 
fortune  in  it." 

The  drab  eyes  glistened. 

"And  are  you  going  to  turn  it  into  money, 
dearie  ? " 

The  Countess  laughed. 

Her  long  black  hair  danced  with  the  movement  of 
her  head  as  she  threw  it  back.  It  seemed  as  if  a 
shower  of  snakes  was  in  movement  behind  her. 

Some  women  are  tremendously  improved  by  having 
their  hair  let  down.  It  gives  them  an  appearance  of 
youth  and  innocence  very  often.  But  "  Mrs.  Pack  " 
was  not  of  that  type.  With  her  hair  unbound  and 
hanging  loose  over  her  shoulders  hard  lines  seemed 
to  start  out  all  over  her  face.  Her  nose  grew  beaky. 
Her  chin  took  on  an  ugly  sharpness.  There  was  too 
great  a  discrepancy  between  the  simplicity  of  the 
hair  hanging  loose  and  the  woman  herself,  and  nature 
refused  to  play  a  deceiving  part.  She  looked  years 
older,  years  plainer,  and  it  would  be  impossible  to  say 
how  much  more  wicked  when  her  hair  was  down. 

"  No,  not  money,  I  think,"  she  replied,  in  answer 
to  the  nurse's  question.  "  Not  money,  this  time." 

"  I  see  what  it  is,  dearie,"  said  Hawkins.  "  You 
are  going  to  pay  some  one  off." 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  209 

"  Pay  some  one  back,  and  not  in  coin  exactly," 
said  the  Countess,  gaily.  "  Paying  one's  debts  is  not 
always  such  a  dull  game  as  it  seems,  eh,  Hawk  ?  I 
owe  Lady  Allingham  this.  Mon  Dieu  !  when  I  think 
that  she  dared  to  cut  me  at  a  public  fete,  before 
Ignace."  She  clenched  her  hands.  "  Other  people 
saw  that  too,"  she  continued.  "  There  were  two  ladies 
at  the  end  of  the  room  who  witnessed  it,  and  they  have 
talked.  I  know,  because  Mme.  de  Villiers — a  true 
friend — hinted  it  to  me.  It  will  be  all  over  Paris  soon." 

"  Never  you  mind,  dearie  ;  you're  the  cleverest  of 
the  lot." 

"  I'm  clever  enough,"  said  the  Countess,  with  a 
careless  laugh,  poring  over  the  documents  in  her 
hand.  "  I've  got  this  in  my  possession.  And  this  is 
no  toy,  Hawk." 

"  Have  you  looked  at  the  other  things  I  brought 
you  ?  "  asked  Hawkins,  quietly. 

The  Countess  in  looking  at  them  laughed. 

There  was  a  big  bundle  of  letters  tied  with  a  blue 
ribbon  and  written  in  the  handwriting  which  she 
recognised  immediately.  They  were  from  Theodora 
to  Marcel — the  letters  of  years,  which  the  former  in 
her  ignorance  and  innocence  had  never  even  asked 
him  to  return  to  her. 

The  white  face  with  the  black  hair  studied  them 
gloatingly.  "  Dear,  dearest  Marcel,"  she  read,  "  the 
time  is  so  long  when  I  don't  see  you.  .  .  .  Marcel, 
darling,  do  you  know  that  your  Theodora  thinks  only 
of  you — how  can  you  be  so  cruel  to  her  ?  .  .  .  My 
own  Marcel,  mamma  is  very  angry  with  me  because  I 
walked  with  you  yesterday  in  the  pine  forest,  but  I 
love  you,  and  so  ...  I  will  meet  you  to-morrow, 
dearest  Marcel,  at  three  o'clock  at  the  entrance  to  the 
campo  santo,  and  let  us  wander  over  towards  the 
purple  mountains  and  look  for  anemones,  and  forget 
everything  but  that  we  love  each  other.  .  .  .  Marcel, 
my  heart  is  simply  breaking  to-day  because  of 
you.  ..." 

P 


210  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

The  Countess  looked  up. 

"Hawk,"  she  said,  in  a  thrilling  voice,  "you're  a 
wonderful  woman — you're  a  treasure.  I'll  make  it 
another  hundred  pounds." 

"  Good,  dearie,  I  don't  object.  It's  the  letters  that 
are  pleasing  you,  isn't  it  ?  You  didn't  tell  me  to 
bring  them,  but  I  saw  they  were  letters — and  letters 
are  always  useful,  ain't  they,  dearie  ?  So  I  whisked 
them  up  and  brought  them  along  as  wsll." 

"  It  was  wonderful  of  you." 

She  was  now  examining  the  document  again.  To 
her  it  was  absolutely  unintelligible,  but  that  mattered 
nothing.  It  was  the  plan  of  Marcel  Fleur's  new  air- 
ship, for  which  the  French  Government  was  then 
negotiating.  That  was  all  she  cared  about. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

THE  gulf  was  rapidly  deepening  between  George  and 
Theodora,  but  neither  spoke  of  it.  They  lived  their 
lives  in  apparent  happiness  and  peace,  they  went 
everywhere  together,  and  the  world  considered  them 
devoted  to  each  other  ;  all  the  men  envied  George, 
and  a  not  inconsiderable  number  of  women  deemed 
that  Theodora  had  been  lucky  to  win  such  a  husband, 
and  yet  all  the  time  their  estrangement  went  on  in- 
creasing. Theodora's  pride  was  in  arms  now.  But 
so  was  George's.  That  was  the  unfortunate  part  of 
it,  for  when  two  people  consider  themselves  each  the 
injured  party  their  affairs  will  necessarily  be  difficult 
to  adjust. 

One  evening  the  Princess  was  dining  with  the 
Allinghams  en  famille  when  a  manservant  entered 
with  a  telephone  message. 

"  For  Madame  la  Princesse,"  he  said.  "  She  is 
wanted  immediately  at  the  H6pital  des  Petites 
Sceurs." 

"  At  the  hospital,"  exclaimed  the  Princess,  in  alarm. 
"  Whatever  can  that  mean  ?  Who  wants  me  ?  " 

The  man  had  written  the  name  on  paper,  as  it 
was  a  difficult  one  to  remember,  and  he  read  it  aloud. 

"  Krikoffsky,"  he  said  suavely.  "  They  say  there 
has  been  a  slight  accident  and  will  you  go  without 
delay  ?  They  have  already  telephoned  to  your  hotel 
for  you,  and  so  a  little  time  has  been  lost  in  finding 
you,  and  every  moment  is  of  importance." 

He  delivered  this  message  in  a  low  voice,  standing 
close  by  the  Princess's  chair. 

211 


212  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  Mamma,"  cried  Theodora,  sharply,  who  was 
watching  the  Princess's  face.  "  Oh !  George,  hold 
her — go  to  her,  quick  ;  she  is  going  to  faint !  " 

George  was  at  her  side  in  an  instant,  but  she 
waved  him  away.  "  No — no,  George,  dear,  ...  it  is 
all  right.  ...  I  was  just  surprised  for  the  moment. 
.  .  ."  She  tried  her  best  to  collect  herself,  and  in 
an  instant  had  regained  her  composure.  "  Will  you 
forgive  me  if  I  leave  so  unceremoniously  ? "  she  said, 
looking  at  them  both  and  rising  to  her  feet.  "  This 
may  be  a  matter  of  life  and  death.  My  dear,  I  must 
not  delay  a  moment." 

"  But,  mamma,"  Theodora  gasped,  "  what  are  you 
going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  the  hospital." 

"  It  is  at  the  other  end  of  Paris,"  said  George. 

"  You  cannot  go  alone,"  said  Theodora.  "  May 
I  not  come  with  you  ?  I  cannot  bear  the  thought  of 
you  starting  off  on  a  journey  like  that  by  yourself." 

The  Princess  hesitated. 

Theodora  came  round  and  threw  her  arms  about 
her  tenderly.  "Take  me  with  you,  mamma,"  she 
said  ;  and,  in  the  softest,  lowest  voice  imaginable,  she 
breathed,  "  You  know  you  can  trust  me !  " 

"  Come,  then,"  said  the  Princess. 

She  was  greatly  overwrought  and  excited,  but 
she  did  not  forget  to  hold  out  her  hands  to  George, 
begging  to  be  forgiven  for  causing  such  disturbance, 
"  and  for  taking  Theodora  away,"  she  added  sweetly. 
She  was  so  very  charming,  in  spite  of  her  agitation, 
that  George  could  not  possibly  harbour  any  feelings 
of  resentment  or  annoyance,  although  the  thought 
had  crossed  his  mind  rather  painfully  that  they  might 
have  asked  him  to  accompany  them. 

The  door  closed  and  they  were  gone,  and  pre- 
sently George  heard  the  great  front  doors  opening 
and  shutting,  and  knew  that  they  had  driven  away. 

A  footman  entered  noiselessly. 

"You  are  wanted  at  the  telephone,  sir,"  he  said 


THEODORA'S    HUSBAND  213 

respectfully.  "  Or,  rather,  it  is  the  Princess  they  have 
been  asking  for ;  but  when  I  told  them  she  was  not 
here,  they  seemed  so  upset  that  I  said  I  would  speak 
to  the  master." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  George,  rising.  "  I  will  come 
immediately." 

He  went  to  the  telephone  in  the  library. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  am  Sir  George  Allingham. 
Who's  speaking  ? " 

"The  Hopital  des  Petites  Soeurs,"  replied  a 
woman's  voice.  "  The  matron  is  speaking.  Forgive 
me  for  troubling  you,  but  can  you  tell  me  if  the 
Princess  has  already  started  ?  If  not,  would  you 
kindly  prevent  her  from  doing  so  ?  " 

"  She  has  already  started,"  said  George. 

Through  the  telephone  he  heard  an  exclamation 
of  regret. 

"  I  am  too  late,"  said  the  voice. 

"  She  is  on  her  way  there  now,"  said  George. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  the  matron.  "  The  fact 
is,  her  coming  now  is  of  no  importance.  M.  Krikoff- 
sky  is  already  dead.  He  passed  away  five  minutes 
ago.  We  did  our  best  to  keep  him  alive  till  the 
Princess  arrived,  as  he  was  so  desperately  anxious 
to  see  her,  but  it  was  in  vain.  It  was  a  clot  of  blood 
on  the  brain — the  result  of  a  fall  he  had  lately.  He 
had  reopened  an  old  sword-wound  in  the  knee  and 
neglected  it,  and  was  in  a  serious  condition  when  he 
came  here.  That  is  what  the  doctors  think." 

The  interview  was  ended.  The  telephone  rang 
off.  George  put  the  receiver  back  in  its  place  and 
returned  to  the  dining-room.  He  drank  some  coffee 
and  a  liqueur  and  smoked  a  cigarette  or  two,  but 
his  mind  was  with  that  conversation  on  the  telephone 
all  the  time. 

In  the  meantime  Theodora  and  the  Princess  had 
driven  rapidly  through  Paris  in  a  motor-brougham, 
the  daughter  supporting  the  mother  in  her  arms  and 
begging  her  not  to  grieve. 


214  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

She  felt  a  tremor  run  through  the  Princess's  slight 
form,  and  she  knew  there  was  more  than  ordinary 
suffering  in  her  mother's  heart  now,  but  not  a  word 
was  said ;  they  drove  in  silence  through  the  night. 
It  was  raining,  and  the  mist  of  fine  small  drops 
covered  the  windows  of  the  brougham  and  made  soft 
music  round  them.  The  night  was  grey  and  oppres- 
sive. Something  ominous  was  lurking  in  the  heavy 
lowering  air,  out  of  which  all  the  ozone  and  oxygen 
seemed  to  have  taken  flight,  leaving  Paris  to  pant 
and  struggle  with  an  enormous  depression. 

At  last  the  motor  turned  noiselessly  in  through 
the  great  gates  of  the  hospital,  and  came  to  a  stand- 
still in  the  courtyard  where  the  bare,  leafless  trees 
stood  in  a  circle,  like  sentinels. 

There  were  a  few  preliminaries  to  be  gone  through 
—  names  to  be  given  and  taken,  all  of  which  was 
done  very  quickly,  and  then  the  matron  herself, 
dressed  in  a  spotless  white  gown  and  immaculate 
starched  cap,  appeared  at  the  carriage  window. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said  quickly,  breaking  the 
news  immediately,  "  I  fear  your  journey  is  a  wasted 
one." 

"What!     Is  he " 

"Dead,"  said  the  matron.  "He  passed  away  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  ago.  I  tried  to  stop  you  from 
starting,  but  it  was  too  late." 

"I  should  like  to  see  him,"  said  the  Princess, 
presently.  "Stay  here,  dearest,"  she  said  to  Theo- 
dora. "  I  will  go  with  the  matron  alone." 

She  disappeared,  and  was  gone  some  ten  minutes. 
Her  face  was  very  white  and  her  lips  trembled  when 
she  returned.  Sweetly  thanking  the  matron  for  her 
kindness  she  entered  the  brougham  and  sank  back 
in  a  corner  next  to  Theodora. 

"  I  am  glad  I  came — I  am  glad  I  saw  him,"  she 
murmured  presently. 

Suddenly  the  Princess's  emotions  overcame  her 
self-control.  Her  fortitude  gave  way,  and  she  broke 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  215 

into  an  abandon  of  weeping,  there  in  the  corner  of 
the  brougham. 

Out  of  the  shadowy  past  the  story  of  Krikoffsky 
came  stealing  in  all  its  details,  and  her  own  life  and 
that  of  her  late  husband,  Hugh  Derrington,  was 
revived  and  reconstructed  in  her  brain  ...  all  the 
pain  ...  all  the  old  pain  returned.  .  .  . 

Yet  now  that  Krikoffsky  was  dead,  a  fresh  problem 
presented  itself. 

He  had  died  of  the  old  wound,  the  doctors  said. 

And  so  he  died,  after  all,  at  Hugh  Derrington's 
hand !  As  that  thought  became  clear  to  her,  she 
struggled  with  an  overmastering  horror  and  trembled 
in  Theodora's  arms. 

"  Mamma,  mamma,  you  mustn't ! "  cried  her 
daughter,  in  terrible  distress.  "  Can't  you  tell  me  ? 
Can't  you  confide  in  me  ?  I  am  a  woman,  like  your- 
self. Surely  we  two  together  might  bear  this  burden 
that  you  are  suffering  under  so  bitterly." 

Then  the  Princess  told  her. 

Sitting  there  in  a  corner  of  the  brougham,  with 
the  raindrops  on  the  window,  the  great  city  enveloped 
in  greyness  and  a  morose  atmosphere — an  atmo- 
sphere that  seemed  to  have  stolen  away  all  its  gaiety 
for  the  nonce — Theodora  listened  to  a  story  that 
thrilled  her  as  she  had  never  in  her  life  been  thrilled 
before.  Wonder — amaze — alarm — horror  chased  them- 
selves over  her  mind  .  .  .  the  story  did  not  take  long 
.  .  .  and  the  end  of  it  was  that  it  was  another  secret 
which  she  must  keep  from  George. 

"  George  must  never  know,"  said  the  Princess. 

"Never,"  echoed  Theodora,  desperately. 

When  they  got  home  George  came  into  the  hall 
to  greet  them,  and  his  manner  was  so  full  of  such 
deep  tenderness  and  thoughtfulness  that  both  women 
were  touched — though  differently.  The  Princess  felt 
the  comfort  of  a  masculine  care  and  sympathy.  Theo- 
dora said  to  herself  this  was  like  the  George  of  old 
days.  The  mother  went  straight  to  her  rooms  and 


216  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

asked  to  be  left  in  solitude  till  the  morning ;  Theo- 
dora entered  her  boudoir  and  threw  herself  on  the 
sofa  by  the  fire.  To  her  surprise  George  followed 
her. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  the  miserable  time  you  have 
had — you  two,"  began  George,  a  little  stiffly,  but 
evidently  with  the  best  intentions,  standing  opposite 
her,  looking  down  at  her,  and  debating  within  himself 
whether  he  should  sit  on  the  edge  of  her  couch. 

"  Yes,  it  was  dreadful  for  poor  mamma." 

"They  telephoned  to  me,  and  I  heard  all  about 
it  from  the  matron,"  said  George.  "  I  hope  that  did 
not  matter." 

"  What  did  you  hear  ?  "  said  Theodora,  sitting  up 
suddenly. 

"That  this  man  Krikoffsky  was  dead,"  said 
George,  quietly. 

"  So  George  knows  his  name,"  Theodora  was 
thinking.  "  Oh,  I  hope  he  will  forget  it" 

She  turned  the  subject,  and  began  to  talk  of  some 
new  music  which  she  was  interested  in. 

"  Am  I  to  be  kept  in  the  dark  about  this  matter  ? " 
asked  George,  angrily.  "Am  I  to  understand  from 
your  manner  that  this  is  another  case  of  something 
you  refuse  to  discuss  with  me  ?  Although  I  am  your 
husband,  and  you  have  risen  from  my  dinner-table — 
you  and  your  mother — and  gone  out  of  this  house 
to  see  a  man  die,  when  you  return  you  maintain  a 
resolute  silence  about  the  matter,  treating  me  as 
though  I  were  some  absolute  outsider." 

"  I  am  sorry ;  I " 

But  she  found  it  impossible  to  go  on.  What 
should  she  say  ?  She  mustn't  even  allow  George  to 
imagine  that  there  was  anything  hidden  there. 

"  I  am  very,  very  tired,"  she  broke  off  suddenly  ; 
"  I  think  I  will  go  to  my  rooms." 

And  she  left  him  ;  and  the  black,  evil  shadow 
came  creeping — creeping  over  their  house  and  over 
their  lives.  It  was  like  the  shadow  of  some  ugly, 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  217 

unkempt  building  standing  in  a  lovely  garden.  When 
the  sun  went  down  the  shadow  grew  darker  and 
longer,  till  it  covered  the  bright  flowers,  turning  the 
white  blossoms  grey,  and  stealing  the  redness  out  of 
the  roses. 

As  she  was  crossing  the  hall  she  heard  a  sharp 
voice  talking  at  the  door  to  the  footman ;  and  the 
next  moment  she  saw,  to  her  amazement,  that  a 
man,  bareheaded  and  cloakless,  was  coming  in. 

He  caught  sight  of  her  in  her  white  gown  under 
the  shaded  lights,  and  rushed  towards  her  wildly. 

"  Theodora,  where  is  George  ? "  he  cried  in  a 
piercing  voice.  "  The  plan  of  the  airship  is  stolen." 

George  had  come  out  of  the  boudoir  and  was 
standing  in  the  doorway,  listening,  and  looking  at 
Marcel. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

NEXT  morning  at  dtjeuner  George  showed  how  deeply 
he  had  been  angered  by  that  scene  of  the  night 
before,  when  Marcel  had  called  Theodora  loudly 
by  her  name  before  the  listening  servants,  and  had 
snouted  in  a  frenzied  way  that  the  plans  of  the  airship 
had  been  stolen.  An  expression  of  chilling  reserve 
was  on  his  face.  He  refused  to  discuss  the  matter 
with  Theodora.  His  one  comment  was  that,  so  far, 
nothing  had  been  discovered. 

Theodora,  answering  to  that  frigid  and  displeased 
look,  said  to  him  suddenly — 

"  You  may  as  well  know — if  it  is  any  satisfaction 
to  you — that  I  had  already  forbidden  M.  Fleur  ever 
to  come  and  see  me  again.  The  very  sound  of  his 
name  is  hateful  to  me,"  she  added  low,  but  not  so 
low  that  George  could  not  hear. 

He  heard  and  remembered  it  for  many  a  long 
day  after. 

She  sat  there  turning  over  her  late-post  letters, 
and  presently  she  opened  one  whose  handwriting 
was  attracting  her,  partly  by  its  boldness  and  partly 
by  its  familiarity. 

To  her  amazement  she  found  that  this  note  began 
"  Dear  George." 

But  before  she  had  had  time  to  think,  its  contents, 
which  were  brief,  had  been  scanned  by  her  eye. 

"  DEAR  GEORGE, 

"  I  feel  I  must  write  you  a  line  to  thank 
you  for  the  money  you  so  generously  gave  me,  and 
to  tell  you  how  deeply  sorry  I  am  that  a  break  should 

218 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  219 

occur  in  our  friendship.  Of  course,  I  quite  understand 
that  our  sweet  Theodora  does  not  care  for  me,  and 
never  will.  That  is  easily  explainable.  But,  then,  I 
do  not  blame  her,  nor  must  you.  I  only  hope  that 
your  happiness  will  be  as  great  as  you  deserve. 

"  Yours,  a  little  sadly,  but  ever  gratefully, 
"  GWENDOLEN  DE  RIGOS." 

Theodora's  face  was  white,  but  her  expression 
was  calm  and  indifferent  when  she  had  finished 
reading.  She  looked  up,  then  held  the  letter  in  a 
trembling  hand  towards  George. 

"This  is  for  you,  I  think,"  she  said  tranquilly. 
"  By  some  stupid  mistake  it  has  been  addressed  to 
me.  I  am  very  sorry." 

George  took  the  letter,  glanced  at  it,  and  uttered 
a  loud  exclamation  of  annoyance. 

He  realised  at  once  that  this  was  another  of  that 
impossible  woman's  tricks.  Would  she  continue  to 
annoy  him  like  this  for  ever  ?  Would  nothing  put  a 
stop  to  her  half-mischievous,  half-cruel,  and  wholly 
unpardonable  conduct  ?  Even  her  marriage  with  a 
rich  man  who  could  give  her  every  luxury  did  not 
seem  to  have  cured  her.  He  looked  furtively  at 
Theodora,  uncertain  quite  what  to  say  to  her. 

"  She  has  done  that  purposely,"  he  exclaimed. 

Theodora  was  silent. 

"The  money  she  speaks  of  was  long,  long  ago, 
when  she  was  in  great  difficulties." 

Still  Theodora  said  nothing. 

He  went  on  drinking  his  coffee,  and  lit  a  cigarette 
as  soon  as  possible  to  relieve  his  feelings,  for 
Theodora  quickly  escaped  from  the  breakfast-room 
and  disappeared. 

She  never  knew  how  that  day  went  by.  It  seemed 
endless,  leaden  of  foot,  and  lagging  dreadfully,  in  spite 
of  all  its  engagements. 

In  the  evening  before  dinner  she  entered  her 
dressing-room  with  a  tired  look  upon  her  lovely  face. 


220  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

Little  lines  of  weariness  were  beginning  to  show  them- 
selves, lines  which  renewed  happiness  would  quickly 
chase  away,  however,  for  she  was  but  a  girl  still.  Her 
sable  cloak  slipped  off  her  shoulders  into  the  ready 
hands  of  her  maid.  With  a  gesture  of  despair,  she 
turned  away  from  the  long  mirror,  in  whose  truthful 
depths  she  read  only  too  clearly  the  traces  of  her 
distress,  and,  as  her  maid  held  towards  her  a  lovely 
teagown  of  white  crepe  and  ermine,  she  sighed,  and 
sank  into  a  deep  armchair  by  the  fire. 

She  tried  to  quiet  her  thoughts,  but  do  what 
she  could  that  letter  of  the  morning  would  persist  in 
troubling  her.  Why  had  he  paid  that  odious  woman 
sums  of  money  ?  Her  mind  went  over  and  over  the 
phrases  of  the  letter — "  How  deeply  sorry  I  am  that 
a  break  should  occur  in  our  friendship."  That  sentence 
proved  plainly  the  absolute  camaraderie  that  had 
existed  between  George  and  the  Countess.  And  then 
that  sentence  which  referred  to  her — "  I  do  not  blame 
her — nor  must  you."  The  thought  of  that  goaded  her 
to  distraction.  It  meant  George  had  discussed  her. 

She  rose  quickly,  and  nervously  began  to  pace  up 
and  down  the  room.  She  was  beginning  to  feel  that 
she  could  not  much  longer  endure  the  strain  she  was 
living  under.  Her  restless  movements  were  inter- 
rupted by  the  coming  of  the  housekeeper  into  the 
room. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  asked  Theodora,  almost  crossly  for 
her. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  to  your  ladyship  about  a  young 
woman  who  came  after  a  place  here  as  under-house- 
maid,  my  lady.  I  have  seen  her,  but  I  do  not  think 
she  is  strong  enough  to  do  the  work." 

"  But  why  on  earth  do  you  bother  me  about  it  ? " 
asked  Theodora  sharply,  her  nerves  all  on  edge.  "Are 
you  not  able  to  manage  these  domestic  affairs  yourself?" 

"  Yes,  my  lady  ;  but  as  the  young  woman  brought 
a  strong  recommendation  from  the  Duchess  d'Ailes, 
I  was  a  little  doubtful  about  refusing  her  until  I  had 
consulted  your  ladyship." 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  221 

"  Very  well.  Leave  the  Duchess's  letter  with  me," 
replied  Theodora.  "  I  will  let  you  know  what  shall 
be  done." 

The  housekeeper  gave  it  to  her  and  retired. 
Theodora  took  the  letter  and  walked  to  her  writing- 
table.  She  sat  there  absently  toying  with  an  exquisite 
jewelled  penholder  for  a  moment,  but  suddenly  she 
remembered  that  it  had  been  a  wedding  present. 
She  threw  it  down  with  a  nervous  gesture  of  disgust. 
How  far  away  and  useless  all  that  seemed  now !  And 
yet  she  had  not  been  married  many  months,  and  there 
were  years  to  be  gone  through  and  lived  out  still. 
They  seemed  to  stretch  before  her  in  a  long,  dreary 
procession  of  hopeless,  deadly  dulness.  How  would 
she  have  to  go  through  them  ?  Hopeless,  alone, 
unloved  ?  The  prospect  seemed  too  terrible,  and  yet 
it  was  all  that  her  weary  brain  could  see  ahead  of  her. 
She  envied,  at  that  moment,  the  poorest  person  in 
the  streets.  What  was  the  use  of  luxury  and  riches 
if  one  had  not  love  ?  A  cold  shudder  ran  through  her 
as  she  shrugged  her  delicate  shoulders  as  if  in  an 
effort  to  dismiss  the  subject,  and  she  absently  turned 
over  the  Duchess's  letter  of  recommendation  which 
she  was  still  holding.  She  smiled  as  she  noticed  the 
well-known  handwriting. 

"  Dear  Carolina,"  she  said  to  herself ;  "  how  sweet 
she  always  is,  and  thoughtful !  I  expect  she  has  per- 
jured her  kind  little  soul  to  give  this  young  woman  a 
good  character ! " 

She  read  the  letter  through  slowly. 

"The  Duchess  d'Ailes  begs  to  recommend  the 
bearer  of  this  note,  Miss  Margaret  Wood,  in  whom 
she  has  every  confidence,  and  whom  she  is  certain 
will  prove  satisfactory." 

As  she  read  that,  a  host  of  ideas  seemed  suddenly 
to  be  loosened  in  her  brain.  One  after  another  flashed 
before  her. 

"  I  shall  keep  that  letter,"  she  said  to  herself, 
deliberately.  "  It  may  prove  useful  to  me." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

WHERE  was  Ivan  ?  He  had  vanished  as  if  the  earth 
had  swallowed  him  up  and  left  no  traces  anywhere 
of  the  curious  old  man  with  his  peculiar  mixture  of 
genius  and  childishness.  That  he  would  have  planned 
deliberately  to  disappear  was  extremely  improbable  ; 
in  fact,  that  he  could  have  done  so  was  hardly  pos- 
sible, for  his  repeated  illnesses  had  weakened  him 
more  and  more,  until  he  had  reached  a  stage  of 
childishness  which  was  manifest  in  almost  everything 
except,  fortunately,  in  his  work  connected  with  avia- 
tion and  the  improvement  of  the  airship.  It  was  a 
more  than  curious  psychological  problem — this  state 
of  his  weakened  mind,  strong  only  on  one  point — 
his  invention. 

" Where  is  Ivan?" 

The  question  rang  through  the  fevered  brain  of 
Marcel  by  day  and  became  a  horrible  caucheinar 
to  haunt  his  troubled  sleep  by  night. 

What  could  have  become  of  him  ?  A  hundred 
different  useless  and  imaginary  solutions  and  fancies 
came  to  Marcel,  the  most  persistent  being  the  thought 
that  he  had  had  some  accident  in  the  street,  and  had 
been  taken,  unknown  and  dying,  to  some  hospital, 
there  to  breathe  his  last  alone  and  uncared  for. 

Meanwhile  Le  Jour  knew  ! 

Armand  Roche,  the  journalist,  had  never  been 
idle  since  that  day,  weeks  before,  when  he  had  met 
Krikoffsky  in  the  caft  and  had  gathered  from  him 
hints  of  old  Ivan's  story. 

The  vague  things  he  had  heard  had  taken  root 

222 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  223 

in  his  imaginative,  impulsive  mind,  and  had  flourished 
exceedingly.  He  had  not  let  the  grass  grow  under 
his  feet.  He  had  tracked  the  old  Pole  to  his  lair — 
as  he  put  it  to  himself  in  his  picturesque  language. 
Krikoffsky  had  said  that  Ivan  lived  in  the  same 
house  as  Marcel  Fleur,  the  Marcel  Fleur,  so  it  had 
not  been  difficult  then  to  track  him.  Every  one  knew 
where  the  aeronaut  lived  ;  his  house  was  as  famous 
as  the  Louvre  itself.  Day  after  day  the  journalist 
had  watched  it  in  whatever  spare  time  he  had  at  his 
command.  The  concierge  had  become  a  friend  of 
his,  succumbing  easily  to  the  glitter  of  occasional 
five-franc  pieces  for  her  little  ones,  knowing  him  only 
as  a  journalist  anxious  for  the  latest  airship  news,  which 
she  willingly  gave,  together  with  much  other  useful 
information.  But  Ivan  seldom  went  out,  only,  in  fact, 
when  it  was  very  fine,  and  that  was  rare  in  December. 

One  sunny  morning,  however,  the  heart  of  Ar- 
mand  bounded  within  him.  He  saw  issuing  from 
the  doorway  the  bent,  old  form  of  the  inventor. 

He  followed  him  down  the  street,  keeping  well 
behind  him.  The  old  man  walked  slowly,  looking 
neither  to  right  nor  left  as  he  went  his  way.  Presently 
he  turned  into  a  cafe,  which  was  evidently  a  haunt  of 
his  and  where  he  was  apparently  well  known. 

Armand  Roche  followed  and  seated  himself  at 
the  next  table,  where  he  began  reading  diligently  his 
paper.  After  some  few  minutes  had  passed  hejeant 
over  and  spoke — 

"I  think,  monsieur,  that  we  have  met  before. 
We  have  a  mutual  friend,  an  artist." 

"  I  do  not  remember,"  replied  Ivan,  suspiciously, 
as  was  his  nature. 

"  You  must  remember  Krikoffsky,  monsieur  ?  He 
introduced  us  here." 

The  old  man's  face  lit  up  with  intelligence. 

"Ah,"  he  answered  quickly.  "My  friend  Kri- 
koffsky !  My  only  friend  !  Let  us  talk  of  him.  You 
know  him  well,  then  ? " 


224  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

The  journalist  was  all  sympathy  and  attention  at 
once.  He  talked,  and  talked  well,  interesting  the  old 
man  by  his  sympathy  both  for  him  and  for  the  singer, 
and  his  ready  comprehension  of  the  great  pleasure 
this  poor  lonely  man  had  experienced  in  meeting  his 
old  friend  here  in  Paris. 

They  drank  together.  Armand  was  an  artist,  too, 
he  said — a  singer.  He  had  lately  been  fortunate,  and 
things  were  going  well. 

Ivan  must  lunch  with  him.  He  plied  him  with 
wine,  and  they  sat  talking  on  and  on.  The  old  man 
grew  more  and  more  at  ease  under  the  influence  of 
the  wine  and  the  sympathetic  manner  of  his  companion. 

After  some  time  the  journalist  saw  with  delight 
that  Ivan  was  getting  more  confidential.  He  turned 
the  conversation  again  to  Krikoffsky. 

"  He  was  one  of  my  greatest  friends,"  he  said. 
"  He  told  me  all.  There  are  no  secrets  between  him 
and  me.  How  interested  he  is  in  you !  He  loves 
you,  and  the  admiration  he  has  for  your  genius  and 
inventive  powers  cannot  be  put  into  words." 

Ivan  was  touched.  His  feeble  old  brain,  weakened 
by  illness  and  disappointment,  was  beginning  to  lose 
its  grasp  again.  So  this  man  knew !  Then  he  could 
talk  to  him  without  compunction. 

The  journalist  waited  in  silence,  trembling  for  the 
words  he  saw  were  on  the  old  man's  lips,  though  he 
hardly  dared  hope  they  would  be  uttered. 

At  last  Ivan  spoke. 

"  You  know,  then.  My  friend,  it  is  a  relief  to  speak 
to  you.  Our  friend  Krikoffsky  has  told  you.  Then 
I  need  be  silent  no  longer  to  you." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  Armand  replied  softly,  laying  his 
strong  young  hand  in  the  wrinkled  palm  of  the  poor 
old  man.  And  so  the  thing  had  been  told.  Bit  by 
bit — little  by  little — from  a  confused  jumble  of  words 
and  phrases,  Armand  Roche  laid  the  pieces  of  the 
puzzle  together,  until  it  stood  out  clear  and  defined 
in  his  mind.  Ah,  what  copy  for  his  paper  !  And  so 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  225 

certain,  so  absolutely  certain!  It  meant  his  fortune, 
and  a  great  coup  for  Le  Jo^lr. 

All  Paris  would  speak  of  the  brilliant  young 
journalist  who  had  unearthed  the  grim  secret  with 
such  untiring  energy  in  the  interests  of  truth.  He 
was  a  made  man  with  this  priceless  information  in  his 
possession. 

Old  Ivan  was  very  happy.  It  was  long  since  he 
had  been  able  to  talk  as  he  had  talked  to-day.  Long, 
long,  they  sat  there.  Armand  Roche  left  the  subject 
which  had  enthralled  him,  after  he  could  gain  no  more, 
and  led  the  old  man,  through  wandering  paths,  to 
speak  of  his  youth,  his  country,  and  the  topics  of  the 
day.  Roche's  remarks  had  something  brilliant  about 
them  which  pleased  Ivan  greatly. 

They  made  an  appointment  for  the  next  day,  and 
then  at  last  they  rose  to  go.  Ivan  to  his  home,  and 
Roche  as  fast  as  a  motor-cab  could  take  him  to  the 
great  offices  on  the  boulevard. 

His  chief  saw  him  instantly  in  response  to  the  few 
hurried  words  he  scribbled  on  his  card.  The  interview 
was  long  and  private.  The  editor  was  quick  to 
recognise  the  extent  of  the  news. 

Here,  indeed,  was  an  affaire.  What  a  scandal ! 
For  an  hour  they  were  closeted  together,  discussing 
it,  planning,  and  plotting.  At  last  all  was  settled. 

"  Ivan  must  be  got  away  from  his  present  abode," 
said  the  great  man  with  decision  ;  "  but  it  must  be 
done  properly.  He  must  leave  of  his  own  free  will. 
He  must  come  to  us  to  help  him  in  his  misery  and 
distress  ;  you  understand  ? "  he  said  meaningly.  "  You 
must  manage  this,  Monsieur  Roche." 

"  I  can  and  will,"  replied  the  young  man,  with 
assurance. 

"  Get  him  away.  Say  that  you  will  befriend  him. 
Say  that  you  have  been  left  money  ;  that  you  will 
pay  everything  ;  that  he  shall  have  everything  he  can 
possibly  desire.  You  are  so  sorry  for  him  !  You 
understand  ?  With  you  he  shall  have  peace,  and 

Q 


226  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

quiet,  and  no  more  worries.  And  money ;  lots  of  it. 
Enough  to  make  him  comfortable  for  the  rest  of  his 
life.  We  will  pay  for  everything." 

"  I  could  take  him  to  my  flat.  I  am  alone  there, 
but  there  is  not  much  room,  and  I  have  no  servant," 
suggested  Roche. 

"  Never  mind.  Take  a  furnished  flat.  Give  him 
his  own  rooms.  Everything,  but  get  him  and  keep 
him !  Make  yourself  necessary  to  him.  Go  now. 
Telephone  us  what  you  have  done.  Here  is  money." 

Armand  Roche  lost  no  time.  It  was  not  a  difficult 
matter  to  persuade  the  old  man.  He  was  weak  and 
feeble ;  here  was  a  resting-place  and  a  friend  who 
would  care  for  him,  and  to  whom  he  could  speak 
freely.  All  was  easily  arranged,  and  Ivan  disappeared 
as  surely  as  if  he  had  vanished  into  the  air  in  one  of 
his  own  airships  ! 

Le  Jour  was  once  more  going  to  do  something 
great. 

This  was  the  finest  thing  that  had  come  its  way 
for  ages,  remarkable  as  were  the  coups  which  this 
journal  was  in  the  habit  of  making. 

They  wanted  to  see  what  Marcel  Fleur  could  do 
without  Ivan's  help.  How  would  he  stand  this  test  ? 
Would  he  go  under  ? 

Le  Jour  would  wait  its  time.  Patriotism  and 
truth!  That  was  the  keynote  of  the  affair.  Here 
was  an  old  man  cruelly  robbed — by  a  great  inventor, 
it  was  true,  but  that  could  not  be  helped.  A  black- 
guard was  a  blackguard  whatever  might  be  his  position. 
And  Le  Jour  would  see  fair  play ! 

France  should  have  the  airship  ;  but  her  hands 
should  be  clean.  Le  Joiir  would  guard  its  country 
from  a  slur  on  her  fair  name.  There  was  the  English- 
man, too,  Sir  George  Allingham.  Where  did  he  come 
in  this  affair  ?  Ivan  had  said  that  he  knew  nothing. 
Of  that  they  must  be  certain.  They  must  work 
silently  and  quickly.  "  Truth,  Justice,  and  Patriotism  " 
— that  was  their  motto  ! 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  227 

And  so  the  days  flew  by.  Marcel  Fleur  was 
watched  and  shadowed.  All  went  well.  It  was 
more  than  evident  that  all  was  true  that  the  old 
man  had  said. 

Marcel  Fleur  was  as  much  in  evidence  as  ever, 
but  nothing  happened.  No  new  trials  took  place. 
Something  was  wrong,  evidently.  There  was  a  hitch, 
and  Le  Jour  knew  why. 

On  the  morning  of  Boxing  Day  the  telephone 
bell  rang  and  rang  in  Armand  Roche's  flat.  It  was 
only  five  o'clock,  but  it  rang  until  it  woke  him  out 
of  his  deep  sleep.  He  ran  to  the  receiver  angrily 
and  answered  the  call. 

The  message  he  received  left  him  standing  amazed, 
with  the  receiver  in  his  hands,  unheeding  the  repeated 
calls  of  the  exchange  to  know  if  he  had  not  yet  finished, 
and  unmindful  of  the  fact  that  they  had  relentlessly 
cut  him  off.  The  plans  of  the  airship  had  been  stolen. 
Sir  George  Allingham  had  been  arrested  and  was  in 
prison. 

"Take  Ivan  away,"  had  commanded  his  chief, 
"and  quickly!  No  matter  where,  but  out  of  the 
country !  It  is  safer  to  get  him  right  away  now. 
Try  Italy.  He  will  like  that.  Go  with  him.  Keep 
him  there.  Take  him  to-day.  Say  you  are  ill.  Any- 
thing !  But  go!" 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THEODORA  sat  back  in  the  corner  of  the  railway 
carriage  and  shut  her  eyes,  and  the  deafening  roar 
of  the  train  as  it  rushed  through  the  night  seemed 
to  beat  a  fitting  accompaniment  to  the  tumultuous 
discords  of  her  own  heart 

She  had  left  George  behind  her. 

That  was  the  note  that  throbbed  and  repeated 
itself  insistently  over  and  over  again  in  all  the  medley 
of  her  emotions.  She  was  here,  flying  through  France 
into  Italy  as  quickly  as  the  long  black  train  could 
carry  her,  and  George  remained  behind,  alone. 

The  shades  were  drawn  over  the  lights  in  the 
carriage.  The  only  other  occupant  wished  to  sleep. 
All  was  dim  and  shadowy  ;  a  sickly,  pallid  little  glow 
just  kept  off  utter  darkness.  Theodora  sat  bolt  up- 
right in  one  corner.  Her  companion — a  handsome 
Russian  lady  of  some  forty  years — extended  herself 
at  full  length  opposite  and  slept  profoundly.  On 
and  on  flew  the  train,  casting  scarlet  fire-flowers  over 
the  white  snow,  and  waking  sleeping  villages  with 
its  demoniac  shrieks  and  yells  as  it  rushed  along. 
Theodora  listened  and  shuddered.  She  pressed  her 
face  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  Whiteness  gleamed 
at  her,  lit  by  the  glow  from  the  engine's  great  red 
eyes.  So  it  was  snowing  heavily.  And  in  Paris  ? 
Was  it  snowing,  snowing  there  ?  Were  the  vast 
white  drifts  coming  softly  down  on  the  sleeping  city  ? 
And  was  George,  by  chance,  looking  from  his  window 
and  watching  .  .  .  ? 

228 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  229 

No.     She  would  not  think  of  George. 

"I  wonder  if  he  waited  a  long  time  for  me  to 
come  down  and  hear  the  carol-singers."  .  .  .  And 
then,  at  last,  all  the  carols  were  sung  .  .  .  the  singers 
drank  their  wassail  within  the  house  .  .  .  they  de- 
parted .  .  .  George  went  to  the  library,  perhaps  .  .  . 
or  did  he  go  into  her  boudoir?  .  .  .  Did  he  look  for 
her?  .  .  .  Had  he  perhaps  found  out  by  now  that 
she  was  gone  ?  .  .  . 

No.     She  must  not  think  of  George. 

When  he  came  into  her  boudoir  was  there  in  his 
eyes  that  old  look  .  .  .  did  he  come  in  quietly  and 
turn  to  find  her,  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  whisper, 
"  You  are  my  love,  and  this  is  Christmas  Eve  "  ? 

No.     She  dared  not  think  of  George. 

Why  should  she  imagine  him  whispering  words 
like  that  to  her?  Why  should  she  hear  his  voice 
saying,  "You  are  my  love"  instead  of  the  chilling, 
formal  little  speeches  he  had  made  her  in  the  carriage 
driving  homewards  from  Carolina's  reception  ?  Why 
was  her  ear  forming  for  her  the  deep  tone  that  had 
always  come  into  his  voice  when  he  held  her  in  his 
arms,  instead  of  the  cold  and  distant  quality  that  had 
distinguished  that  same  voice  as  he  said  to  her,  "  It 
is  you,  not  I,  who  are  responsible  if  things  go  wrong 
in  our  lives  together  ? " 

"  Madame,  you  are  in  distress.  .  .  .  Pardon  me. 
...  I  am  so  sorry.  ...  I  too  ...  I  have  suffered.  .  .  ." 

The  Russian  lady  had  lifted  herself  slowly,  with 
an  inimitable,  panther-like  grace,  from  her  seat,  and 
was  leaning  towards  the  figure  in  the  corner,  who  sat 
there  with  her  beautiful  red-gold  head  bowed  in  her 
hands,  while  her  breath  came  in  sharp,  ungovernable 
sobs,  and  those  terrible  tears  that  would  have  their 
way  at  last  rained  down  her  cheeks  as  though  she 
were  some  broken-hearted  child. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  so  sorry,  madame.  .  .  ." 

Like  one  in  a  dream  Theodora  heard  the  soft 
voice  speaking,  and  somehow  the  very  fact  that  there 


230  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

was  another  woman  near  her  carried  a  dole  of  comfort 
to  her  stricken  soul. 

"  Let  me  give  you  a  little  cognac,  you  poor,  dear 
lady,"  went  on  the  voice,  after  a  while.  "  And  see,  I 
have  two  cushions  here.  You  must  take  one,  and 
then  you  will  lie  down  comfortably  and  fall  asleep 
perhaps." 

On  and  on  went  the  train.  Aix  was  left  behind. 
The  peaceful  grey  chateaux  and  villas  were  giving 
way  to  wilder  scenery.  Snow-clad  mountains  rose 
higher  and  higher,  and  on  the  slopes  of  one  appeared, 
through  the  blackness  of  the  wintry  night,  a  huge 
cross  of  light  that  could  be  seen  shining  for  miles 
round.  Many  passengers  in  that  Christmas  train, 
looking  from  the  windows  as  they  fled  onwards 
through  the  silent,  snow-covered  country,  were  stirred 
and  uplifted  and  comforted  strangely  by  the  sight  of 
that  great  gleaming  crucifix  hanging  out  on  the 
mountain  slopes — for  those  who  travel  long  journeys 
on  Christmas  morn  are  not  of  the  happiest  kind 
usually,  and  the  cross  had  its  own  meaning  to 
many. 

It  was  the  last  thing  Theodora  saw  before  she  fell 
asleep  under  the  kindly  ministrations  of  her  Russian 
friend. 

"  You  will  be  better  for  a  rest,  my  poor  child." 

"  You  are  so  very  good,"  murmured  Theodora. 
She  lay  full  length  on  the  seat  with  her  head  on  the 
friendly  Russian's  little  cushion  and  her  great  fur- 
lined  travelling  cloak  tucked  in  carefully  all  round 
her  by  those  white,  subtle  hands.  She  had  swallowed 
a  little  cognac.  Now  she  was  stupid  from  sheer 
exhaustion.  She  would  sleep  and  forget  for  a  little 
while. 

Again  she  thought  of  George. 

Why  had  he  been  so  cruel  to  her?  He  was  a 
man,  and  older  by  many  years  than  she.  He  should 
have  taken  every  care  of  her.  Instead,  he  had  treated 
her  with  such  coldness,  such  bitterness,  that  he  had 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  231 

driven  her  to  this.  It  was  the  unfairness  of  it  that 
she  minded  so.  All  she  had  done  was  to  be  strictly 
and  rigidly  honourable,  and  to  keep  Marcel  Fleur's 
secret  because  she  had  promised  to  do  so.  That  was 
her  only  fault.  And  for  that  she  had  been  terribly 
punished.  She  had  seen  George's  whole  nature  change 
towards  her.  He  had  taken  away  his  love  and  given 
her  a  half-tolerant,  half-indifferent  courtesy  instead, 
with  coldness  and  contempt  barely  hidden  underneath. 
She  had  done  her  best.  He  had  done  his  worst.  He 
had  even  discussed  her  with  the  Countess  de  Rigos ! 
And  all  the  while  he  had  been  warning  her  against 
that  awful  woman,  exhorting  her  not  to  make  friends 
with  her,  commanding  her,  in  fact,  not  to  take  her 
into  her  confidence ;  he  had  been  pursuing  a  friend- 
ship with  her  himself,  of  which  she,  Theodora,  had 
been  absurdly  and  ridiculously  unconscious  until  she 
read  that  letter  beginning  "  Dear  George."  Then  and 
not  until  then  had  her  eyes  been  opened.  Now  they 
would  never  close  again  ! 

She  raised  her  head  for  a  moment,  searching  for 
her  handkerchief,  and  suddenly,  through  the  window, 
she  glimpsed  the  gleaming  crucifix  on  the  mountain 
side.  For  a  moment  she  stared  at  it  breathless. 
Then  she  sank  down  again  and  drew  her  furred  cloak 
up  over  her  face,  as  though  to  shut  herself  in  alone 
with  her  desolation  and  misery. 

She  wished  she  had  not  seen  it.  What  was  it 
doing  out  there  in  the  night  and  the  silence  ?  Was 
it  calling  to  people?  Was  it  saying  something  to 
her  ?  And  if  so,  what  was  its  message  ? 

"  Peace  on  earth  and  good  will."  .  .  .  Was  it  any- 
thing like  that  ? 

She  shivered  and  drew  her  cloak  more  closely 
round  her. 

And  in  Paris,  just  at  that  time,  George  was  walking 
up  and  down  past  her  door,  noticing  the  light  still 
burning  there,  praying  that  she  was  not  very  unhappy, 
and  resolving  that  Christmas  Day  must  heal  the 


232  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

breach  between  them,  even  if  he  had  to  confess  him- 
self all  in  the  wrong. 

Theodora's  brain  grew  drowsy.  Thought  became 
confused  and  vague.  And  now  the  great  gleaming 
cross  seemed  to  be  saying  to  her  over  and  over  again, 
"  George  "  !  As  her  thoughts  slipped  from  her  that 
one  idea  lingered  strangely.  .  .  .  Then  she  slept  and 
knew  no  more. 

.  .  .  Her  companion,  stooping  over  her  lightly 
some  time  later,  saw  that  the  sad  young  lips  were 
curved  in  a  smile,  though  the  long  eyelashes  were 
wet  on  the  beautiful  pale  cheeks. 

"  I  am  glad  she  is  not  really  so  miserable.  No 
one  can  be  unhappy  who  is  rich  and  as  lovely  as 
that,"  she  said  to  herself,  drawing  Theodora's  dressing- 
bag  stealthily  towards  her  as  she  prepared  to  leave 
the  train.  "  She  is  evidently  a  wealthy  woman.  I 
only  wish  I  could  get  at  her  luggage.  But  there  are 
sure  to  be  jewels  here.  Well,  farewell,  beautiful  un- 
known !  You  are  doing  a  poor  desperate  wanderer  a 
good  turn  by  your  unhappiness,  if  that  is  any  comfort 
to  you ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

How  wonderful  it  is,  that  coming  into  Italy — coming 
from  grey  winter  cities  into  a  land  flooded  far  and 
wide  with  sunshine.  To  find  the  sun  again,  glittering 
and  radiant,  and  vivid  blue  in  the  heavens  after  the 
dark  skies  of  London  and  Paris,  seems  like  a  magic 
act  to  one  who  travels  by  train  direct  from  one  country 
into  the  other. 

The  little  age-old  city  of  Pietra  Santa  lay  stretched 
luxuriously  in  golden  sunlight  at  the  foot  of  the  olive- 
covered  hills,  and  as  Theodora  wandered  out  of  the 
railway  station  on  the  afternoon  of  Boxing  Day,  she 
felt  a  sudden  uplifting  of  her  spirits  and  a  quite  definite 
and  exquisite  easing  of  all  her  troubles. 

True,  her  dressing-bag  had  been  stolen  in  the 
night.  That  was  a  nuisance.  Her  kind  travelling 
companion  had  turned  out  to  be  a  thief.  That  was  a 
sad  affair.  There  she  was  now,  alone,  in  a  strange 
city,  with  very  little  money,  and  no  clothes  of  any 
kind  except  those  she  was  wearing.  Luckily  her 
ticket  had  been  in  her  tiny  sachet  with  her  handker- 
chief and  a  few  louis,  and  this  had  been  lying  under- 
neath her  as  she  slept  in  the  train,  and  so  had  been 
saved.  She  had  the  five  hundred  lire  in  Italian  notes, 
which  she  had  exchanged  at  the  frontier,  concealed 
in  the  bodice  of  her  gown.  Otherwise,  she  was  penni- 
less. And  yet,  because  she  was  in  Italy,  and  because 
the  great  plain  and  the  glittering  Mediterranean  and 
the  mountains  in  the  background  were  all  flooded 
with  sunlight,  and  the  skies  were  pure  and  cloudless, 
she  was  almost  happy. 

233 


234  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

It  had  begun  badly,  her  adventure.  Yet  even  the 
incident  of  the  dressing  bag  could  not  distress  her  much. 

"  She  must  have  been  in  great  straits,"  she  mused. 
"  I  hope  she  wasn't  bitterly  disappointed  to  find 
nothing  worth  stealing  but  the  gold  appointments. 
She  probably  threw  it  away  in  disgust  afterwards, 
poor  lady.  Anyway,  she  was  awfully  nice  and  kind 
to  me.  And,  perhaps,  she  too,  like  myself,  was  just 
a  soldier  of  fortune." 

This  exhilarating  air,  touched  with  snow  from  the 
purple  mountains  in  the  distance,  gave  her  strength 
and  courage,  while  the  exquisite  dreaming  beauty  of 
the  little  Italian  mountain  city  where  the  train  had 
just  deposited  her  was  entering  into  her  very  soul. 
She  had  left  the  station,  and  wandered  out  into  the 
wide,  white  old  Roman  road  that  ran  through  the 
middle  of  the  town,  but  the  amazing  loveliness  and 
magnificence  of  this  out-of-the-way  little  place  that 
nobody  ever  goes  to,  brought  her  to  a  sudden  stand- 
still. 

It  was  five  o'clock,  and  a  scarlet  sun  was  setting 
right  into  the  sea.  The  world  wore  a  look  of  such 
ineffable  unworldliness  that  it  was  difficult  to  believe 
one  looked  on  real  earth  and  sky  and  sea.  All  the 
clouds  were  on  fire,  and  rose-lights  sparkled  on  the 
blue  glitter  of  the  Mediterranean  and  on  the  purple 
and  snow-wreathed  mountains  in  the  background. 
Far  away  in  the  distance,  a  low  shadowy  mass 
seemed  rising  out  of  the  sea,  all  blurred  and  in- 
distinct, hidden  away  in  that  vast  sunset  haze  of 
gold  and  orange  glory.  It  was  Sardinia,  that  far-off 
shadow  darkening  the  dazzling  waves  and  clouds. 
And  inland  stretched  a  plain  that  gently  swelled 
upwards  into  low  slopes  covered  with  figs  and  olives 
and  beautiful  little  villages  ;  and  beyond,  higher  still, 
the  great  range  of  purple  mountains.  Out  of  the 
city  itself  rose  a  tall  red  campanile,  and  a  beautiful 
old  cathedral,  whose  white  dome  was  like  a  bubble  on 
the  still  plain.  Further  down  the  plain,  to  right  and 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  235 

left,  were  clustered  other  wonderful  little  antique  cities, 
with  their  domes  and  towers  rising  up  into  the  sunlight. 

Theodora  stood  looking  about  her  entranced. 
Everything  was  delightful,  so  full  of  life  and  colour. 
A  little  scarlet  cart  passed  her,  full  of  slabs  of  marble 
from  Carrara,  a  few  miles  off.  The  cart  had  bright 
blue  wheels,  and  its  horse  was  pranked  out  with 
scarlet  and  gold  bells,  and  had  an  enormous  merry- 
looking  feather  over  his  ears,  while  the  driver  wore  a 
coat  of  flaming  orange,  such  as  the  Italian  driver  so 
dearly  loves.  Just  opposite  were  the  old  brown  gates 
of  the  little  walled  town,  maddeningly  beautiful  in 
their  curves  and  proportions.  People  moved  about 
lazily,  yet  cheerfully.  There  was  a  flashing  of  dark 
eyes  and  white  teeth.  Just  because  the  sun  was 
shining  they  were  happy  here.  Theodora  laughed 
suddenly  at  the  thought. 

"  I'm  going  to  be  happy  too,"  she  said  to  herself 
determinately.  Her  mood  had  changed.  She  was 
no  longer  the  weeping  wretched  woman  in  the  train 
with  her  heart  wrung  beyond  endurance.  Now  she 
was  almost  gay  and  full  of  curiosity.  She  was  out 
in  the  world  all  alone.  It  was  a  little  terrifying. 
But  still,  one  must  not  think  of  that!  It  was  decidedly 
exciting.  And  now  that  she  had  stopped  thinking 
about  George  (who  was  in  the  cells  just  then  !),  she 
could  see  that  life  was  holding  out  to  her  a  most 
fascinating  adventure. 

"  But  first  of  all  I  must  get  my  hair  cut.  I  wonder 
if  I  can  find  a  barber." 

An  old  woman  passing  stared  at  her  with  the 
frank  admiration  of  the  Italian  peasant  and  bade  her 
a  happy  day—felice  giorno — in  the  pretty,  flower-like 
language  of  her  kind. 

"Does  the  signorina  like  Pietra  Santa?"  she 
asked,  reading  aright,  with  her  subtle  instinct,  the 
look  in  Theodora's  wide  violet  eyes. 

"  I  ^think  it's  the  most  beautiful  place  I've  ever 
seen  in  my  life,"  answered  Theodora. 


236  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"Truly,  signorina."  Lively  amazement  showed 
in  the  black  eyes.  "  But  not  beautiful  compared  to 
the  cities  the  signorina  must  have  seen,"  she  said 
politely,  with  the  ineffable  courtesy  of  the  Italian 
peasant.  "  Still  it  is  beautiful,"  she  went  on.  "  In 
our  cathedral  there,  there  is  a  marble  staircase  which 
Michael  Angelo  himself  had  a  hand  in.  Ah !  the 
great  Michael  Angelo  and  the  great  Leonardo  da 
Vinci,  they  both  lived  here  in  their  time.  And  see ! " 
She  pointed  towards  a  little  hamlet  on  the  slopes 
nestling  among  the  mountains.  "There  is  Valdis- 
castello,  where  was  born  our  great  poet  Carducci !  " 

This  delighted  Theodora  beyond  words. 

It  was  only  an  old  peasant  woman — a  contadina — 
but  her  eyes  kindled  when  she  spoke  of  the  art  of 
the  sculptor  and  the  painter  and  the  poet. 

"  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  the  signorina?"  she 
was  asking. 

"Can  you  tell  me  where  I  shall  find  a  hair- 
dresser ?  " 

"Si,  signorina,  subito.  Just  here,  along  the  Via 
Donatello,  you  will  find  an  excellent  one,  who  will 
coif  your  hair  in  the  very  latest  fashion." 

Theodora  thanked  her,  gave  her  a  lira,  and 
hastened  down  the  Via  Donatello,  a  narrow  street 
with  high,  many  windowed  houses  on  either  side,  out 
of  which  leaned  innumerable  women  and  children. 
For  to-day  was  Saturday  afternoon,  and  festa. 

She  entered  the  shop  and  found  herself  the  object 
of  much  curiosity  to  the  groups  of  youths  who  stood 
about  within.  The  barber  hastened  forward.  When 
he  heard  that  she  wanted  her  hair  cut  off  he  looked 
horrified. 

"  But  it  would  be  a  sin,  signorina,  to  cut  off  that 
wonderful  hair !  " 

"  It's  too  heavy,"  said  Theodora,  excusing  herself 
for  what  she  knew  was  an  extraordinary  proceeding. 
"  Please  do  it  as  quickly  as  you  can." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  exclaiming  that  he 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  237 

was  "  desolat,"  but  it  should  be  as  the  signorina 
wished.  He  put  her  in  a  chair,  wrapped  her  up  in  a 
vast  sheet,  took  the  pins  out  of  her  hair,  and  as  it 
fell  over  her  shoulders,  broke  into  a  cannonade  of 
exclamations.  It  was  so  funny  that  she  found  herself 
laughing  merrily,  and  when  she  peeped  back  over  her 
shoulder,  she  discovered  that  the  whole  population 
of  Pietra  Santa  had  come  in  to  look  at  her,  even  the 
little  babies. 

And  here  she  was,  Lady  Allingham,  in  a  little 
barber's  shop,  in  the  far-off  province  of  Lucca,  with 
butchers,  bakers,  and  wine-sellers  and  peasants,  and 
drivers,  all  looking  on  while  she  had  her  hair  cut. 

"  How  beautiful  she  is ! "  went  like  a  wave  over 
the  assembled  company. 

The  barber  was  looking  everywhere  for  his  scissors, 
and  it  amused  Theodora  to  see  how  light-heartedly 
he  took  their  disappearance. 

"  They  were  here  this  morning !  "  he  said. 

At  last  he  found  them.  His  face  fell  several 
degrees  as  he  advanced  towards  the  lovely  signorina 
in  the  chair,  with  the  red-gold  hair  floating  in  great 
waves  over  her  shoulders. 

"  Ah,  signorina,  I  cannot !  "  he  cried. 

"  No !  no ! "  agreed  the  crowd,  all  chipping  in  as 
if  it  were  a  matter  of  vital  importance  to  every  one 
of  them. 

"  You  must,"  said  Theodora, 

"  I  cannot,"  he  almost  wailed. 

"  You  can,  and  you  must,"  she  said  firmly. 

"  Very  well,  signorina,"  he  said  meekly. 

He  heaved  a  tremendous  sigh  and  advanced. 
Taking  up  a  handful  of  her  hair,  he  attacked  it 
furiously  with  the  scissors.  A  groan  burst  from  the 
assembled  crowd  as  the  long  tress  fell  to  the  floor. 

"  But  that  was  terrible,"  he  muttered. 

He  paused  and  wiped  his  face  with  an  enormous 
handkerchief.  Then  he  went  back  to.  work,  and,  with 
smothered  groans  and  sighs,  slowly  'denuded  that 


238  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

beautiful  head  of  its  wonderful  gleaming  hair,  while 
Pietra  Santa  panted  and  sighed  and  groaned  and 
sympathised  in  the  background. 

The  operation  was  almost  completed,  and  Theo- 
dora was  staring  at  herself  in  the  mirror,  when  the 
crowd  parted  to  make  way  for  a  newcomer — a  tall, 
lithe  young  man,  deeply  sunburnt,  with  curly  brown 
hair  and  merry  eyes. 

"  This  a  barber's  ?  "  he  said  in  English.  His  eyes 
met  Theodora's  in  the  glass,  and  he  started. 

Her  hair,  cropped  round  her  head,  had  broken 
into  little  clustering  curls.  Instead  of  spoiling  her 
beauty,  it  enhanced  it  a  hundredfold. 

She  felt  the  colour  running  up  into  her  cheeks. 
How  maddening  to  be  caught  like  this  by  some  one 
who  was  obviously  a  gentleman  ! 

And  yet  she  had  not  dared  to  go  to  Florence  until 
she  had  made  the  requisite  changes  that  would  turn 
her  from  Lady  Allingham  into  Miss  Margaret  Wood. 

Suddenly  a  noise  began  in  the  background.  They 
were  squabbling,  these  people.  A  woman  had  crept 
forward  slyly,  and  picked  up  one  of  those  gleam- 
ing tresses.  Another  had  followed.  Some  one  had 
remonstrated.  A  scene  began.  The  hair  was  worth 
money,  that  was  certain.  If  Nella  and  Assunta  could 
have  some,  why  not  the  others  ?  All  in  a  moment 
their  voices  rose  and  rose,  and  eyes  flashed,  and 
wildest  excitement  prevailed. 

Theodora,  in  terror,  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  moved 
backwards  from  the  gesticulating  and  vociferating 
crowd. 

"  It's  all  right,"  said  a  manly  voice  ;  "  you  needn't 
be  in  the  least  alarmed.  It's  only  gas ! " 

"  I  am  a  stranger  here,"  said  Theodora. 

"  Well,  I'm  an  Australian,"  he  said,  "  and  I've  got 
a  good  muscle  of  my  own,  you  bet,  and  I'll  take  care 
of  you.  Don't  you  be  frightened.  But,  truly,  you've 
not  the  slightest  need  to.  They're  simply  wild  with 
admiration,  and  that's  the  truth  of  it," 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  239 

"  It's  very  good  of  you,"  said  Theodora. 

"  If  you'll  let  me,  I'll  see  you  safely  away  from 
here." 

"What  will  the  signorina  do  with  her  beautiful 
hair  ?  "  asked  the  barber,  who  was  still  pale  from  the 
operation.  "Would  she  wish  that  I  gave  her  ten 
francs  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Theodora,  hastily,  anxious  only  to  get 
away.  "  And  you  can  give  the  money  to  the  poor." 

She  put  her  hat  on,  and  tied  it  over  her  head 
with  a  big  veil.  A  sudden  change  came  over  the 
Australian's  face  as  he  heard  her  words.  Why,  then, 
was  this  beautiful  girl  parting  with  such  hair  as  that 
since  it  was  not  for  money  ?  Obviously  she  was  not 
selling  it,  as  he  had  at  first  imagined.  What  reason, 
then,  had  she  in  coming  to  this  little  Italian  barber, 
all  alone  like  this,  to  have  her  hair  cut  off? 

She  was  the  most  amazingly  beautiful  creature 
he  had  ever  seen  in  his  life,  and  here  in  the  little 
out-of-the-way  township  her  clothes  breathed  an  air 
of  luxury  and  fashion  that  proclaimed  her  unmis- 
takably a  woman  of  wealth  and  elegance,  though,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  Theodora  had  expressly  chosen  this 
suit  of  black  serge,  and  the  great  mouse-coloured  cloth 
travelling-cloak,  with  its  squirrel  lining,  to  give  her 
an  appearance  of  simplicity  and  plainness.  But  every- 
thing she  wore  came  from  Paris  !  Her  little  black  hat, 
trimmed  with  black  wings,  had  that  easy  daring  chic 
that  only  Parisian  ringers  can  impart.  Even  as  they 
walked  out  of  the  hairdresser's  together,  the  Australian 
had  arrived  at  the  quick  conclusion  that  there  was  some 
mystery  connected  with  this  lovely  lady  ;  and,  follow- 
ing rapidly  on  that  came  the  corollary  that  if  she  were 
in  distress  and  needed  a  knight,  he  was  only  too  ready 
to  enter  her  service. 

They  stepped  out  into  Via  Donatello,  and  again 
Theodora  was  thrilled  with  the  vivid  penetrating  love- 
liness of  Pietra  Santa,  with  its  marble  steps  and  monu- 
ments, its  superb  old  palaces,  and  its  olive  trees  on 


240  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

the  slopes,  rising  so  steeply  right  up  out  of  the  city 
that  the  pale  towers  and  domes  seemed  to  stand  out 
against  a  wide  background  of  softest  grey-green. 
The  sky  was  red,  still  red  with  sunset.  The  air 
was  exquisitely  clear.  Theodora  smiled  from  sheer 
pleasure. 

"  I  am  just  a  bird  of  passage  here,"  the  Australian 
was  saying.  "  I've  come  over  from  Pisa.  A  friend 
told  me  that  this  was  the  place  in  Italy  that  pleased 
and  interested  him  most  after  Rome." 

"  It's  so  wild,  and  yet  so  marvellously  artistic,"  said 
Theodora.  "I  shall  never  be  able  to  tear  myself 
away." 

She  stopped  just  then,  and  said  quietly  that  she 
would  bid  him  good-bye,  as  she  was  going  in  here 
to  her  hotel. 

He  took  off  his  hat,  said  good-bye,  and  turned 
away  with  that  spring  on  the  heel  that  characterises 
Australian  men.  But  why  was  he  smiling  ?  Simply 
because  that  was  his  hotel,  too.  He  had  stayed  there 
the  night  before,  and  he  knew  perfectly  well  that  half 
an  hour  ago  he  was  absolutely  the  only  person  there, 
beside  the  proprietor,  his  wife,  and  his  bambini,  and 
he  had  taken  his  room  there  till  Monday. 

When  Theodora  had  chosen  a  room  looking  on 
the  old  piazza,  with  its  great  stone  gateway,  she  went 
quietly  out  to  do  some  shopping. 

At  half-past  seven  that  night  a  tall  young  woman, 
with  a  beautiful,  pale  complexion,  scarlet  mouth,  great 
violet  eyes,  and  a  head  covered  with  short,  red- gold 
curls,  came  down  into  the  salotto  to  dine.  She  was 
dressed  in  a  black  wool  jersey  and  a  short  brown 
linsey  skirt,  with  cheap  yellow  boots  and  thick  stock- 
ings. She  carried  a  scaldino — a  little  earthenware 
basket  filled  with  hot  coal — in  her  hands  to  warm 
her,  just  as  all  the  Pietra  Santa  women  did,  and  she 
told  herself  contentedly  that  no  one  would  take  her 
for  a  lady  of  fashion  now. 

Then  her  heart  beat  sickeningly.     Sitting  dining 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  241 

at  a  little  table  near  the  door  was  the  Australian,  the 
person  she  would  have  most  wished  not  to  see.  He 
had  witnessed  her  hair  being  cut  off.  He  had  seen 
her  in  her  Paris  clothes.  Now  he  saw  her  in  these 
local  garments,  dressed  like  a  village  girl,  though  he 
knew — he  must  know — very  well  she  was  nothing  of 
the  sort.  How  annoying  it  was  !  And,  perhaps,  how 
dangerous ! 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THERE  was  one  person  in  Paris  who  might  reason- 
ably be  expected  to  be  overwhelmed  with  grief  at  the 
disappearance  of  Theodora,  and  that  was  her  own 
mother,  the  Princess.  But,  luckily  for  her,  this  charm- 
ing lady  had  a  secret  source  of  consolation  unknown 
to  any  one  in  the  world  except  herself  and  her 
daughter.  She  knew  where  Theodora  was. 

The  note  left  on  the  dressing-table  which  bade 
George  "keep  the  truth  from  mamma"  was  only 
a  blind. 

It  was  intended  to  throw  dust  in  his  eyes,  and  to 
make  him  believe  that  the  Princess  knew  nothing  of 
her  daughter's  disappearance,  so  that  there  would  be 
no  chance  of  him  going  to  her  and  trying  to  drag  the 
truth  from  her  lips. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  though  she  was  not  aware 
exactly  where  Theodora  was  going,  or  when  she 
would  depart,  she  knew  she  intended  to  leave  George, 
and  there  had  been  a  bitter  scene  on  the  afternoon  of 
Caroline's  dinner.  She  had  remonstrated,  pleaded, 
wept.  But  she  had  been  finally  won  over  by  the  look 
of  grief  and  misery  in  her  daughter's  eyes,  and  by  the 
story  Theodora  had  sobbed  out  to  her  of  Sir  George 
Allingham's  harshness  to  her,  in  spite  of  all  her  efforts 
to  make  him  happy.  And  then  the  Princess  heard, 
too,  the  ugly  incident  of  the  Countess  de  Rigos's 
letter,  thanking  George  for  money  he  had  given  her, 
and  mourning  over  the  break  Theodora  had  caused 
in  their  friendship.  All  this,  and  many  another  little 
detail  piled  up  by  the  overstrung  and  unhappy  girl- 

242 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  243 

wife,  had  made  such  a  pitiable  story  that  when  Theo- 
dora exclaimed,  "  I  shall  kill  myself  if  I  cannot  get 
away  alone,"  her  mother  in  terror  had  bade  her  do 
what  she  thought  best,  and  had  promised  to  reveal 
nothing  whatever  to  George  or  to  anyone.  And 
Theodora  had  promised,  in  her  turn,  to  take  the 
utmost  care  of  herself  in  every  sense  of  the  word. 

"You  must  trust  me,  mamma,  for  I  cannot  tell 
you  all  I  have  planned." 

What  the  Princess  knew  was  that  Theodora  was 
going  to  stay  in  a  quiet  little  hotel  in  Florence,  and, 
to  avoid  scandal,  was  changing  her  name. 

She  did  not  know  the  name  of  the  little  hotel,  nor 
yet  the  name  under  which  Theodora  was  disguising 
her  identity. 

Nor  did  she  know  that  Theodora  was  going,  not 
as  a  "  paying  guest,"  but  as  a  companion  to  an  old 
invalid  English  lady  staying  in  this  little  hotel. 

"  I  will  write  to  you  as  soon  as  I  am  settled,  and 
perhaps  later  on  you  will  join  me." 

"  But  when  are  you  coming  back  to  George  ? " 

"  Never ! "  was  the  answer  from  the  firm  young 
wilful  lips. 

"  Oh,  but  it's  madness  ! "  burst  from  the  agonised 
mother.  "  It  is  ruining  your  whole  life,  and  George's. 
Don't  you  see,  Theodora,  that  after  such  an  extra- 
ordinary deliberate  step,  George  may  well  refuse  to 
let  you  return  to  him,  and  is  almost  certain  to 
do  so." 

"  But  that  is  just  what  I  would  wish,"  said  Theo- 
dora, angrily.  "  I  wish  it  so.  George  has  shown  me 
quite  plainly  that  he  almost  hates  me.  He  did  love 
me  once,  but  it  was  a  love  that  could  not  stand  much 
strain  upon  it,"  and  she  laughed  bitterly.  "  As  soon 
as  he  found  that  I  had  a  will  of  my  own,  and  would 
not  do  exactly  what  he  wanted  and  tell  him  exactly 
what  he  wanted  to  know,  he  completely  changed  to 
me,  and  day  by  day  I  had  the  misery  to  endure  of 
seeing  his  coldness  grow  into  absolute  dislike." 


244  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  I  cannot  in  the  least  understand  it,"  said  the 
Princess,  miserably. 

"  Neither  can  I,"  said  Theodora.  And  then  she 
added  sadly,  "  But,  after  all,  I  deserve  it.  It  is  only 
my  just  punishment.  I  married  George  for  his 
money.  Why  should  I  expect  happiness  ?  Why 
should  I  expect  to  have  his  love  ?  And  why  " — she 
broke  off  in  a  strain  of  forced  gaiety  that  somehow 
made  her  mother's  heart  wince  with  pain  for  her — 
"  why  should  I  mind  when  I  don't  get  it  ?  And  so 
I'm  going  away.  Later  on,  this  step  of  mine  may 
lead  to  a  complete  separation.  It  will,  of  course, 
prove  unmistakably  to  both  George  and  myself  what 
our  feelings  are  respecting  each  other.  He  will  smile 
with  pleasure  when  he  finds  I  am  gone." 

Ah,  how  little  she  guessed  what  would  really 
happen  when  George  found  she  had  left  him  ! 

How  far  she  was  from  dreaming  that  he  was 
going  to  be  forced  to  read  in  her  disappearance  a 
tacit  confession  of  her  guilty  theft  of  the  stolen 
airship's  plans,  for  which  the  police  had  come  to  search 
her  boudoir,  and  particularly  her  dressing-bag,  acting 
on  information  which  Marcel  Fleur  had  received 
privately. 

How  absolutely  and  terribly  she  was  at  sea  when 
she  uttered  those  words,  "  He  will  smile  with  pleasure 
when  he  knows  that  I  have  gone !  "  Instead,  he  had 
taken  her  supposed  guilt  on  his  shoulders,  and  in  her 
place,  to  keep  her  honour  fair  and  unspotted,  had 
gone  to  the  cells. 

Theodora  remained  at  Pietra  Santa  for  three  days, 
resting  quietly  till  her  disappearance  from  Paris  could 
not  be  made  to  coincide  with  her  appearance  in 
Florence. 

During  that  time  it  was  inevitable  that  she  should 
see  more  of  the  Australian,  William  East.  They  were 
the  only  English-speaking  people  in  this  little  ancient 
city  that  looked  across  the  blue  plain  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  245 

She  understood  now  why  she  had  been  instantly 
and  curiously  drawn  towards  this  man.  It  was  because 
he  reminded  her  of  George. 

He  was  of  the  same  stature,  a  big,  broad-shouldered 
man,  who  wore  a  loose  kind  of  grey  suit  such  as 
George  was  particularly  fond  of.  He  was  fair  and 
bronzed.  His  eyes  were  grey  and  steady,  with  the 
peculiar  straight,  almost  hard,  glance  that  charac- 
terised George's  eyes.  And  the  same  expression 
of  deep  human  kindness  was  there,  making  every 
one  feel,  at  the  first  look,  absolute  confidence  and 
liking  for  the  man,  just  as  they  felt  when  they  saw 
George. 

Theodora  found  herself  talking  to  him  as  to  a 
brother.  His  attitude  was  charming.  It  was  that  of 
the  average  Australian,  who  looks  on  womankind  in 
general  as  his  sisters,  to  be  protected  and  treated 
with  simple  kindly  friendliness.  He  is  a  being  not 
run  after  by  women,  in  spite  of  his  good  looks  and 
splendid  manliness.  On  the  contrary !  For  in  his 
country  there  are  so  many  men,  that  to  an  Australian 
woman  a  man  can  never  represent  the  same  thing  as 
he  represents  to  the  average  English  girl — some  one 
to  be  captured  and  married.  No!  The  Australian 
woman  looks  upon  mankind  as  her  comrades  until  she 
chooses  to  transform  one  of  them  into  her  husband. 
Theodora  wandered  into  the  cathedral  with  William 
East,  and  they  looked  together  at  the  wonderful 
marble  pulpit  and  its  staircase,  and  roamed  about, 
enchanted  at  all  the  exquisite  things  they  saw  there, 
especially  that  wealth  of  incomparable  carvings  in 
marble  that  decorates  the  walls,  with  the  banner  of 
the  Medici  floating  high  above.  They  explored  the 
olive-coloured  hills  behind  the  city,  and  climbed,  by 
purest  marble  steps,  upwards  to  the  great  overhanging 
fortress  that  frowns  down  over  Pietra  Santa.  They 
sat  on  the  enormous  yellow  wall,  on  the  top  of  which 
grew  great  fig  trees  and  almonds,  and  they  looked 
out  together  over  the  vast  expanse  of  green  plains, 


246  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

blue  sea,  and  purple  mountains  shimmering  away  in 
beautiful  bright  sunlight. 

"  Where  is  Paris  ? "  a  little  voice  seemed  to  whisper 
in  Theodora's  brain. 

She  really  could  scarcely  answer.  It  appeared  to 
her  as  if  Paris  and  all  the  life  there  had  suddenly 
faded  right  away,  and  was  nothing  more  real  than  a 
dream. 

A  dream!  Only  that!  But  dreams  return  to 
haunt  one  sometimes. 

It  was  chiefly  the  reaction,  after  all  the  stress  and 
suffering  of  the  last  few  weeks,  that  was  causing  her 
to  feel  so  intensely  peaceful  and  happy  here  in  Pietra 
Santa.  She  was  far  from  every  one.  Yet  she  was 
not  lonely.  Her  brain  seemed  able  to  fly  again  with 
all  its  old  lightness  and  brightness.  She  was  free 
from  that  ghastly  nightmare — that  ugly  pain  of  watch- 
ing George's  eyes  looking  at  her  with  colder  and 
colder  politeness  day  after  day. 

She  saw  no  newspapers,  and  remained  in  blankest 
ignorance  of  the  terrible  catastrophe  that  had  fallen 
on  her  home  and  her  husband. 

"Miss  Wood,  what  are  you  thinking  of  all  this 
long  time  ? "  demanded  William  East,  after  he  had 
watched  her  for  some  moments  in  silence. 

She  started.  She  was  not  accustomed  yet  to  the 
name,  and  it  struck  her  with  surprise.  But  she 
must  grow  accustomed  to  it.  It  would  not  do  to  be 
astonished.  She  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  all  sorts  of  stupid  things,"  she 
answered  vaguely. 

Her  eyes  fell  on  her  ringless  hand,  and  it  almost 
seemed  to  her  as  if  East  must  notice  the  strangeness 
of  that  finger  without  the  wedding  ring. 

She  wondered  what  he  thought.  Surely  it  must 
have  occurred  to  him  that  it  was  a  little  extraordinary 
for  her  to  come  to  Pietra  Santa  and  have  her  hair  cut 
off  first  thing,  then  buy  simple  village  clothes  and 
dress  accordingly  to  avoid  attention. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  247 

As  if  he  had  read  her  thoughts  just  then,  he  said 
to  her — 

"  I  hope  you  won't  think  it  awful  cheek — what 
I  am  going  to  say  to  you.  Perhaps  it  is.  If  so,  I 
can  only  hope  that  you'll  forgive  me,  and  understand 
that  I'm  not  speaking  out  of  idle  curiosity,  or  any- 
thing of  that  sort.  Yet  I  confess  I  am  curious  about 
you,  Miss  Wood.  But  how  can  I  be  otherwise  ?  And 
yet  I  suppose  that's  just  the  way  with  tourists  like 
you  and  me,  who  meet  in  out-of-the-way  places  acci- 
dentally and  know  nothing  whatever  of  each  other." 

"  But  that's  the  charm  of  it,"  interrupted  Theodora, 
quickly.  "  It  is  quite  true  that  we  know  nothing  of 
each  other — you  and  I — but  then  that  isn't  necessary, 
is  it  ?  I'm  just  a  woman,  working  for  her  living,  who 
has  come  to  Pietra  Santa  to  have  a  little  rest.  You 
are  a  travelling  Australian.  And  we're  staying  in  the 
same  hotel.  And  by  accident  we  spoke  to  each 
other.  And  afterwards  we  found  ourselves  equally 
enthusiastic  over  this  most  lovely  of  little  old-world 

cities.     And "  she  paused  and  laughed  gaily,  her 

old  bright  irresistible  laugh  that  struck  her;  strangely, 
it  was  so  long  since  she  had  heard  it.  "  Well,  isn't 
that  enough  ? "  she  ended. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  East,  gravely. 

He  was  drinking  in  the  mobile  loveliness  of  her 
face  framed  under  the  great  spreading  fig  tree,  and 
for  a  moment  he  remained  silent  after  he  had  spoken. 
Theodora  turned  to  look  at  him.  Then  she  started. 
She  had  seen  right  into  his  eyes,  and  deep  within  their 
grave  depths  was  an  expression  that  made  her  heart 
beat  suddenly,  hard  and  painfully.  She  caught  her 
breath.  She  looked  away  quickly  across  the  Mediter- 
ranean. He  had  looked  so  extraordinarily  like  George 
at  that  moment ! 

Just  so  had  George  looked  at  her  many  a  time  in 
days  gone  by.  She  trembled,  and  the  colour  went 
slowly  out  of  her  cheeks.  She  sat  still,  her  hands 
clasped,  staring  straight  out  before  her. 


248  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

She  was  unable  to  speak  for  a  moment. 

"  I  would  just  like  to  say  one  thing,"  said  East, 
noting  immediately  the  cloud  that  had  fallen  over  her 
face.  "  I  hope  it  isn't  presumptuous ;  it's  just  this. 
If  ever  you  want  a  friend — I  mean  to  say  a  pal,  a 
comrade,  someone  to  do  you  a  good  turn — I  hope 
you'll  let  me  know." 

"  You  are  very  good,"  said  Theodora,  touched  by 
the  ring  of  genuine  kindliness  in  his  deep  voice  and 
quiet  eyes. 

"  Will  you  promise  me  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  about  promise,"  she  said, 
endeavouring  to  turn  their  conversation  to  a  lighter 
vein.  "  It  isn't  so  serious  as  all  that,  and  I  hope  it 
never  will  be." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  East,  still  seriously.  "  But  in 
case  it  is,  may  I  give  you  my  address  ?  "  He  took  a 
card  from  his  pocket-book. 

His  address  was  inscribed  upon  it :  William  East, 
Bank  of  New  Holland,  Queen  Victoria-street,  London. 

"  That's  my  bank  address,"  he  said.  "  That  will 
always  find  me,  no  matter  where  I  am.  I  wander 
about  a  good  deal.  But  I  suppose  I  shall  settle  down 
one  of  these  days." 

He  took  out  his  pipe  and  began  to  fill  it.  Theo- 
dora watched  him.  That  was  like  George  too,  she 
thought,  his  way  of  filling  his  pipe. 

"My  mother  and  1  have  been  travelling  about 
now  for  the  last  two  years,  seeing  Europe,  and  for 
myself  I  confess  I'm  beginning  to  get  a  bit  tired 
of  it." 

"You're  homesick,"  suggested  Theodora,  gently. 

"  I  want  a  home,  perhaps,"  he  said  thoughtfully, 
still  intent  upon  his  pipe.  Then  he  went  on  in  his 
slow  and  rather  drawling  voice,  "  I  should  have  had 
one  long  ago  if  fate  hadn't  played  me  a  cruel  trick. 
It  took  away  the  girl  I  cared  for.  She  died." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Theodora  could  think 
of  nothing  to  say.  That  simple  statement,  "  She 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  249 

died,"  opened  up  before  her  such  an  appalling  vista 
of  loneliness  and  misery  that  she  grew  speechless 
before  it. 

"  And  not  an  ordinary  death  either,"  went  on  East, 
as  if  thinking  aloud  to  himself.  "  The  fates  weren't 
satisfied  in  taking  her  from  me,  but  they  must  do  it 
in  a  most  cruel  and  sensational  way.  The  terrible 
bubonic  plague  broke  out  in  Sydney.  She  caught  it, 
and  that  was  the  end."  ' 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  burst  from  Theodora's  lips,  and 
before  she  knew  what  she  was  doing  she  had  turned 
and  put  her  hand  on  his,  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  a 
wave  of  her  own  suffering  had  mixed  and  mingled 
indistinguishably  with  the  pain  of  this  quiet  man 
beside  her. 

He  started  at  her  touch,  and  laid  his  hand  over 
hers  for  a  moment 

"  Promise  me,"  he  said,  going  back  strangely  to 
his  request  of  a  few  moments  ago. 

"  I  can't  promise,"  said  Theodora,  sadly  ;  "  I've 
had  rather  an  unhappy  experience  in  my  life  through 
making  rash  promises ;  but  I'll  just  thank  you  very, 
very  much.  And  I'll  certainly  remember." 

"  All  right,"  he  said  gently,  "that's  all  that  I  can 
ask." 

They  rose  and  strolled  away  from  the  Rocca. 
Wending  their  way  down  the  hill  under  the  olives, 
they  paused  every  now  and  then  to  pick  the  creamy- 
white  Christmas  roses  that  spread  their  fragile  loveli- 
ness over  the  slopes.  Nothing  more  was  said,  and 
the  next  day  they  parted. 

East  asked  her  a  little  shyly  if  she  would  not  let 
him  know  her  address.  But  she  shook  her  head  and 
said — 

"  I'm  going  to  work  for  my  living,  and  I'm  afraid 
I  should  not  be  able  to  see  you,  even  if  by  chance  we 
did  happen  ever  to  be  in  the  same  city  again."  She 
looked  up  into  his  eyes  with  a  strange,  appealing 
expression.  He  smiled  down  at  her. 


250  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  I  understand  that  look,"  he  said,  nodding.  "  You 
can  trust  me,"  and  then  half-humorously,  half-sadly, 
he  added,  "  I'm  not  a  cad,  and  I  know  it's  my  duty  to 
forget  that  I  saw  you  having  that  beautiful  hair  cut 
off,  and  assuming  the  garb  of  a  village  maiden  here 
in  Pietra  Santa.  You  can  trust  me  never  to  speak 
of  it." 

He  left  in  the  morning  for  Pisa,  and  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  same  day  Theodora  departed  for  Florence. 

Night  had  fallen  over  the  mountains  and  the 
dreamy  plains  as  her  train  came  creeping,  creeping, 
down  into  the  vast  and  lovely  valley  of  the  Arno. 
Far  away,  in  the  distance,  she  saw  the  lights  of  Florence 
gleaming  as  the  beautiful  city  came  nearer  and  nearer. 

What  should  she  find  there,  she  wondered  ?  What 
lay  in  store  for  her  in  the  future  ?  Her  heart  still 
remained  strangely  light,  and  never  the  slightest  pre- 
monition crossed  her  mind  of  the  state  of  things  in 
Paris.  The  train  came  panting  and  groaning  into  the 
station,  and  she  saw  with  a  joyful  recognition  the 
white  face  of  the  inimitable  Campanile  of  Giotto 
gleaming  high  up  in  the  light  that  fell  upon  it  from 
the  Piazza  del  Duomo ;  and  the  great  dome  of  the 
cathedral  was  vaguely  seen  beyond  it.  Her  ardent 
love  of  architecture  thrilled  within  her  at  the  sight. 

"I  am  going  to  be  happy  here!"  she  said  to 
herself. 

The  doors  were  opened,  and  she  stepped  out  upon 
the  platform,  overwhelmed  for  the  first  few  moments 
before  the  indescribable  deafening  babel  of  voices  and 
the  excited  cries  and  gestures  of  the  crowd  of  blue- 
bloused  facchini,  or  porters. 

"  Facchino  !  Facchino  !  "  was  heard  on  all  sides. 

She  raised  her  voice  and  uttered  the  same  cry,  but 
it  died  away  on  her  lips  suddenly. 

Two  people  were  coming  towards  her,  pronouncing 
her  name,  "  Miss  Margaret  Wood."  The  little  old 
lady  in  black,  with  a  gentle  face  framed  under  a 
simple  old-world  bonnet,  was  holding  out  her  hand 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  251 

while  beside  her  a  tall,  broad-shouldered  man  in  grey 
was  smiling  also,  and  exclaiming  "  Miss  Margaret 
Wood  "  in  a  slightly  different  tone. 

Theodora  was  dazed.  Was  she  dreaming,  or  was 
that  man  beside  her  really  William  East  ? 

As  if  he  read  her  thoughts  he  bent  towards  her, 
and  said  rapidly — ' 

"  This  is  my  mother — Mrs.  Ellerton.  I  am  the  son 
of  her  first  marriage.  I  only  heard  your  name  when 
I  came  back  here  this  evening,  and  I  knew  it 
must  be  you.  So  I  came  with  her  to  meet  you — to 
welcome  you."  He  added  softly,  "  My  mother  is  deaf, 
and  cannot  hear  what  I'm  saying.  Remember,  you 
can  trust  me !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

OLD  Ivan  and  Armand  Roche,  the  journalist  (and  for 
the  moment,  perhaps,  one  of  the  most  important  men 
on  the  staff  of  Le  Jour},  had  duly  arrived  in  Florence 
after  a  somewhat  tedious  journey.  They  had  taken 
the  route  via  Mont  Cenis,  as  being  the  easiest  one 
at  this  desired  moment  of  departure,  and  Monsieur 
Roche  had  not  found  it  particularly  interesting  ;  but, 
all  the  same,  the  delight  of  old  Ivan  was  almost 
pathetic  to  witness,  as  he  at  last  realised  that  he  had 
crossed  the  frontier  and  left  Paris  and  France  far 
behind,  and  with  them  the  load  of  care  and  worry 
he  had  felt  weighing  upon  his  bent  old  shoulders 
during  the  long,  long  months  before  his  kind  friend 
Armand  Roche  had  taken  pity  on  him  and  cared  for 
him  so  well. 

As  the  train  rumbled  and  jolted  along  the  coast, 
through  the  numerous  small  tunnels  that  gave  such 
tantalising  glimpses  of  gorgeous  blue  sea  breaking  in 
featheiy  foam  over  the  blue-green  rocks,  he  was  as 
delighted  as  a  little  child.  For  him  the  journey  was 
enthralling.  He  did  not  mind  the  dirt  or  dust,  or  the 
lateness  of  their  train.  He  was  out  of  France,  away — 
far  from  Marcel  Fleur,  whom  he  vaguely  hated,  for 
his  illness  had  not  left  his  mind  quite  clear  as  to  why 
he  disliked  him  ;  far  from  airships  and  machinery  that 
one  invented  and  got  no  credit  for.  Far  from  poverty 
and  discomfort,  too,  he  thought,  as  he  felt  the  soft 
cushions  of  the  wide  first-class  carriage,  in  which  he 
sat  wrapped  in  rugs. 

How  good  this  new  friend  was  to  him  !  He  felt  too 
252 


THEODORA'S    HUSBAND  253 

contented  and  weak  even  to  wonder  if  there  could 
possibly  be  any  motive  in  his  kindness.  And,  any- 
way, it  did  not  matter  much.  He  was  only  a  poor, 
helpless  old  man,  and  not  of  much  good  or  use  to 
any  one.  Therefore  his  friend's  kindness  must,  he 
felt,  be  disinterested. 

They  had  secured  charming  rooms  in  an  hotel  over- 
looking the  Arno,  and  there  in  the  golden  rays  of  the 
wintry  sunlight  Ivan  was  sitting,  silently  enjoying  the 
view,  and  looking  across  the  water  at  the  quaint  old 
yellow  houses  and  palaces  reflected  in  the  flowing 
river.  He  felt  supremely  happy  in  his  quiet  way,  and 
asked  nothing  more  than  to  be  allowed  to  sit  there 
day  by  day,  in  his  warm  room,  reading  by  the  fire,  or 
watching  the  light  play  across  the  stream  upon  those 
wonderful  old  yellow  palaces  which  seemed  to  prop 
each  other  up  for  fear  of  falling  into  the  Arno,  as 
their  stone  walls  adventurously  hung  over  its  edge. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  Ivan  was  enjoying 
a  cup  of  his  own  Russian  tea  by  the  window,  and 
nibbling  one  of  those  inimitable  little  Florentine 
cakes — for  he  still  had  a  sweet  tooth,  even  in  his  old 
age — when  Armand  Roche  knocked  at  his  door,  and 
then  entered  smilingly. 

The  old  man  turned,  and  stretched  out  a  hand  to 
his  friend  with  a  muttered  blessing  in  his  native  tongue. 

"  What  are  you  calling  me  ?  "  asked  the  younger 
man,  affectionately  patting  the  withered  old  hand, 
whose  cunning  fingers  even  yet  knew  how  to  fashion 
and  combine  the  wondrous  secret  parts  of  his  aero- 
plane. 

The  journalist  had  indeed  acquired  a  real  affection 
for  this  poor  lonely  man,  whom,  at  first,  he  had  got 
under  his  control  for  his  own  ends  and  those  of  Le 
Jour.  He  had  always  been  kind  to  him  ;  at  first  out 
of  policy,  and  because  those  were  his  orders  from  his 
chief,  but  afterwards  on  account  of  the  real  and  lasting 
admiration  he  had  conceived  both  for  his  honest 
simple  character  and  his  extraordinary  genius. 


254  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

Latterly  it  had  been  a  real  pleasure  to  him  to 
wait  upon  and  tend  old  Ivan,  and  he  had  watched 
and  looked  after  him  as  if  he  had  been  his  own  father. 
He  saw  that  Ivan  wanted  for  nothing.  The  best 
rooms  that  the  hotel  could  provide  were  at  his  dis- 
posal. His  food  was  of  the  best,  better,  in  fact,  than 
he  had  ever  tasted  in  all  his  life.  All  that  kindness 
and  money  could  do  was  being  done  for  him. 

The  old  man  did  not  reply  to  his  friend's  question, 
except  by  pointing  out  over  the  water  in  admiration, 
as  he  drew  his  companion's  attention  to  the  red  rays 
of  the  early  setting  January  sun  upon  the  houses. 

"  I  am  so  happy  here,"  he  said  at  last,  "  and  I 
have  only  you  to  thank." 

Armand  Roche  for  a  moment  was  smitten  with 
some  qualms  of  conscience,  but  his  quick  Gallic 
temperament  soon  drove  these  away,  as  he  explained 
to  himself,  half-humorously,  that,  in  the  main,  the 
words  were  perfectly  true. 

"  Shall  we  not  go  out  ? "  he  asked.  But  Ivan 
shook  his  head.  He  wanted  to  rest  quietly  there 
until  dinner  time. 

"Well,  let  us  go  out  to-night  to  dinner  to  some 
nice  restaurant.  It  will  be  more  amusing  than  dining 
in  the  hotel,  and  it  is  not  cold  to-night." 

The  old  man  assented.  He  loved  a  little  jaunt ; 
his  life  had  been  so  singularly  free  from  even  the  most 
harmless  amusements,  and  these  little  dinners  and 
lunches  pleased  him  as  much  as  if  he  had  been  a 
schoolboy. 

Armand  Roche  did  not  stop  long  talking  to  him. 
The  old  man  was  in  one  of  his  silent  moods,  as  Ar- 
mand perceived,  and  was  quite  content  to  remain  there 
alone ;  but  he  settled  him  carefully  in  a  comfortable 
chair  by  the  log  fire,  with  his  papers  and  writing 
materials  close  to  hand,  and  saw  that  he  needed 
nothing  before  he  left. 

Then  he  wandered  out  to  the  Lung'  Arno,  past 
the  brilliantly  lighted  little  shops  with  their  strange 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  255 

mixture  of  beautiful  old  things  and  terrible  new  ones. 
He  gazed  into  the  little  windows  with  the  other 
strangers,  interestedly,  and  avoided,  with  them,  the 
furiously  driven  and  ramshackle  cabs,  which  always 
seem  uncertain  whether  they  wish  to  drive  on  the 
road  or  the  path,  and  appear  to  take  a  delight  in 
terrifying  the  pedestrians  who  may  be  walking  along 
by  the  parapet  of  the  river  till  they  scowl  and  stand 
aside,  flattening  themselves  against  the  wall. 

Monsieur  Roche  wandered  idly  on  to  the  Ponte 
Vecchio.  The  night  was  cold,  but  brilliantly  fine, 
and  there  were  many  people  out.  Tourists,  English 
and  American  residents,  contadini  selling  cakes  and 
trinkets,  the  usual  Italian  boys  flying  recklessly  round 
corners  on  bicycles,  a  jumble  of  carriages  and  country 
carts  —  all  the  habitual  delights  and  picturesque 
muddle  which  always  characterise  the  Ponte  Vecchio 
and  the  surrounding  streets. 

Suddenly  a  form  hurrying  by  him  caught  the 
attention  of  Armand  Roche.  It  was  a  woman,  and 
he  thought  he  recognised  her.  Where  had  he  seen 
her  before  ?  Who  was  she  ? 

He  turned  quickly,  and  retracing  his  steps,  fol- 
lowed her.  There  was  something  in  the  graceful 
poise  of  the  tall,  slim  figure,  something  in  the  colour- 
ing of  the  red-gold  hair  escaping  from  under  the 
closely  drawn  veil  which  reminded  him  vaguely  of 
some  one  he  had  known,  or  of  some  one  who  was 
well  known. 

Yes,  that  was  it,  he  thought.  Some  one  who  was 
well  known  to  the  world.  An  actress.  A  singer. 
He  could  not  recall  her. 

But  in  a  moment  he  laughed  at  his  idea.  That 
could  not  be  a  well-known  or  famous  person  of  the 
kind  of  which  he  was  thinking.  The  girl  was  evi- 
dently poor.  She  was  simply,  almost  meanly  dressed 
in  a  plain  black  coat,  none  too  thick  for  the  weather 
either,  and  a  short  serviceable  tweed  skirt,  evidently 
an  Italian  costume. 


256  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

Her  face  was  closely  veiled.  He  could  tell  that 
from  the  back  of  her  simple  hat  from  which  the  thick 
folds  of  a  black  veil  were  hanging. 

He  hesitated. 

Then  his  wonderful  memory  for  people,  his  infallible 
memory,  as  he  so  often  boastingly  called  it,  had  failed 
him  for  once.  But  no  !  There  was  something  familiar 
in  the  walk  and  carriage  of  that  girl  in  front  of  him. 
He  would  catch  her  up  and  try  to  see  her  face. 

It  would  not  be  a  difficult  matter  to  pass  her 
quickly  and  turn  again  after  a  few  steps  so  as  to  face 
her.  He  lost  no  time  in  putting  this  plan  into  action. 
He  turned  and  faced  her.  Through  her  veil  he  saw 
her  vivid  eyes  and  lips,  beautiful  as  ever. 

In  a  flash  he  knew  the  woman  whom  he  was 
gazing  at  open-mouthed  and  amazed.  It  was  Lady 
Allingham. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  of  it.  He  had  seen  her 
too  often  to  be  mistaken.  Besides,  he  never  made 
mistakes.  But  how  changed,  he  thought.  Why  had 
she  done  that  to  her  hair  ?  And  why  those  clothes  ? 

A  disguise,  evidently.  But  a  disguise  that  was  no 
disguise. 

In  a  second  he  had  made  up  his  mind.  He  was  a 
journalist  before  everything.  This  was  a  lucky  chance 
for  him.  Once  more  fortune  seemed  to  be  smiling  upon 
him.  Here  was  Lady  Allingham,  the  Lady  Alling- 
ham of  whom  rumour  said  so  many  things  in  Paris ! 
She  was  here  in  Florence,  while  her  husband  lay  in  a 
Paris  gaol.  He  knew  that  she  was  not  at  her  house 
in  Paris.  It  had  been  given  out  that  she  was  staying 
with  friends  in  the  country,  and  until  rumour  had 
sent  its  evil  tongue  abroad,  no  one  had  thought  of 
disputing  it.  But  queer  things  were  being  said,  and 
more  than  one  person  in  society  had  asked  outright : 
"  Where  is  Lady  Allingham  ?  And  there  had  been 
no  answer. 

Every  one  now  said  that  she  had  run  away,  and  it 
seemed  true ;  for  here  she  was,  badly  disguised,  and 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  257 

worse  dressed,  he  thought,  with  a  Frenchman's  utter 
contempt  for  ill-fitting  clothes.  All  this  flashed 
through  his  agile  brain.  Quickly  he  turned  to  her. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Lady  Allingham,  for  stop- 
ping you,"  he  said,  "  but  I  find  myself  most  fortunate 
to  meet  you  here " 

She  had  stopped,  and  was  looking  at  him  with 
wide-open  eyes  ;  in  terror  for  a  moment  it  was  evi- 
dent. But  she  recovered  herself  immediately,  and, 
though  her  face  was  blanched,  looked  calmly  at  him. 

"  I  represent  Le  your,"  he  went  on  with  almost 
impertinent  persistence.  "  Would  you  not  give  me 
a  few  moments'  conversation,  please,  and  perhaps  a 
few  details  concerning  the  situation  ?  You  will  re- 
member, doubtless,  that  we  can  be  of  the  greatest  use 
to  your  husband." 

He  ceased,  for  the  girl  was  staring  at  him  coldly 
and  calmly. 

"I  do  not  know  in  the  least  what  you  are  talking 
about,  sir,  nor  have  I  ever  heard  of  Lady  Allingham," 
she  said,  staring  above  his  head  and  moving  away 
with  dignity,  just  as  a  tall  young  man,  irreproachably 
dressed,  and  as  M.  Roche  thought,  apparently  Eng- 
lish, came  up  and  addressed  her  in  her  own  language. 

The  girl  seemed  delighted  to  see  him  ;  they  were 
evidently  friends,  for  no  formal  salutation  passed  be- 
tween them. 

The  journalist  wondered  if  he  had  heard  the  last 
few  words.  He  did  not  think  so,  for  he  had  not 
noticed  the  young  man  in  his  haste  to  carry  out  the 
little  manoeuvre  by  which  he  had  run  his  quarry  down. 
But  he  was  mistaken.  East  had  been  looking  in  a 
shop-window  near  by,  and  had  overheard  all,  and  as 
he  scornfully  glared  at  this  unknown  man,  his  glance 
might  have  told  the  journalist  that  he  believed  his 
story  to  have  been  a  mere  pretext  to  speak  to  the 
lady. 

M.  Roche  was  taken  aback,  but  he  was  not 
abashed.  He  was  certain  now  that  it  was  she.  What 

S 


258  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

a  find !  He  must  follow  her.  But  while  he  had 
paused  she  had  slipped  quickly  down  one  of  the  little 
turnings  and  had  been  swallowed  up  in  the  dark 
shadows  thrown  by  the  great  overhanging  palaces. 

It  was  annoying,  but  it  could  not  be  helped,  he 
thought.  Florence  was  only  a  small  place.  He 
would  say  nothing,  and  keep  his  eyes  well  open. 
Thoughtfully,  his  mind  full  of  suppositions  and  a 
tangle  of  suggestions  and  ideas,  he  returned  to  the 
hotel. 

It  was  nearing  dinner  time,  and  he  went  in  and 
gently  roused  Ivan,  who  had  fallen  asleep  by  the 
warm  fire.  The  old  man  raised  his  head  and  smiled 
his  slow,  sweet  smile.  Dinner  ?  Yes,  he  would  get 
ready,  and  they  would  go  out.  The  air  would  do 
him  good.  How  kind  his  friend  was!  It  was  so 
seldom  that  the  young  men  of  the  present  day  took 
much  or  any  trouble  about  the  old — a  tale  that  may 
probably  be  told  of  every  generation  since  the  world 
began,  the  sole  difference  being,  that  nowadays,  the 
younger  generations  are  probably  much  better  in  this 
way  than  their  fathers  were  before  them. 

About  half  an  hour  afterwards,  well  wrapped  up 
and  laughing  and  talking,  they  set  out  for  the  restau- 
rant through  the  narrow,  quaint  streets,  past  the 
churches  and  great  palaces,  looking  huge  in  the 
artificial  light,  and  through  the  great  modern  Piazza. 
Vittorio  Emanuele,  with  its  innumerable  brilliantly 
lighted  caf&,  and  mixed  crowd  of  soldiers  and 
civilians. 

They  turned  down  the  Via  Calzaioli,  and  entered 
the  Restaurant  Mellini. 

At  the  door  Ivan  stopped.  He  had  forgotten  to 
get  his  beloved  papers.  He  must  go  back  and  buy 
them.  He  would  be  miserable  without  them,  he 
pleaded.  Armand  would  go  in  and  secure  a  table  ; 
he  would  only  be  a  minute  or  two. 

The  old  man  had  his  way,  and  went  slowly  out 
again,  up  the  street  to  his  paper  stall,  and  Armand 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  259 

Roche  walked  down  the  restaurant  towards  the  jovial 
and  smiling  proprietor.  He  asked  him  for  a  table. 

"  Si,  signore.  It  is  very  full  to-night,  but  I  have 
always  room  for  my  customers,"  said  he  politely. 
"  I  will  find  you  a  table  instantly.  See,  there  is  one 
vacant  over  there,  next  the  round  table  with  all  the 
English  ladies  and  gentlemen  at  it." 

M.  Roche  went  across  the  room  and  took  posses- 
sion of  the  little  table,  looking  around  him  as  he  did 
so.  His  eyes  fixed  upon  the  round  table,  at  which 
seven  or  eight  English  people  were  just  beginning 
dinner.  They  did  not  interest  him  much  until  he 
recognised  with  a  start  the  young  man  who  had 
spoken  to  Lady  Allingham  just  an  hour  or  more 
ago. 

He  hurriedly  examined  the  others  of  the  party, 
and  to  his  amazement  saw  again  the  lady  of  the 
afternoon's  adventure.  He  scrutinised  her  closely. 
She  had  changed  her  dress  and  hat,  but  was  still  both 
cheaply  and  untastefully  dressed.  Her  veil  was 
lifted  now,  and  there  was  no  mistaking  her  face. 

"  She  is  Lady  Allingham,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"This  begins  to  get  interesting.  I  think  I  shall 
telegraph  to  the  office  after  dinner." 

Certainly  Le  Jour  would  have  liked  to  know  that 
the  wife  of  the  most-talked-of  man  in  Paris  had  been 
run  to  earth  in  Florence,  and  until  there  was  some 
definite  news  or  some  exciting  detail  to  give  a  guarded 
reference  would  be  interesting  and  mystifying  to  its 
readers ;  and  as  usual,  Le  Jour  would  "  know,"  and 
its  "  faithful  readers,"  too,  should  know,  and  when  the 
right  moment  came  Le  Jour  would  tell  all  that  they 
"  had  always  known." 

Armand  Roche  mused  as  he  watched  her.  She 
wore  no  rings,  not  even  her  wedding  ring.  That 
was  the  most  striking  point  about  the  disguise.  Her 
face  was  as  beautiful  as  ever,  perhaps  even  more 
lovely  than  before,  for  suffering  had  lent  her  expres- 
sion a  depth  and  charm  which  had  been  lacking. 


260  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

The  violet  eyes  looked  sad  and  tired,  it  was  true, 
and  the  white  face  had  lost  a  little  of  its  roundness, 
but  still  she  looked  wonderfully  beautiful.  Not  even 
the  short  cropped  hair  could  change  that.  It  added 
to  it,  in  fact,  he  decided. 

He  noticed  the  nervous  movements  of  the  thin 
white  fingers,  playing  with  a  simple  little  gold  chain 
upon  which  hung  a  little  gold  cross  around  her  neck, 
and  once  again  he  told  himself  that  there  could 
be  no  possible  doubt  but  that  this  was  she.  She 
looked  up.  She  caught  the  fixed,  penetrating  glance 
levelled  at  her  from  the  neighbouring  table.  She 
started,  half  in  fear,  half  in  annoyance. 

She  glanced  at  his  table.  It  was  laid  for  two,  and 
she  could  hear  him  speaking  to  the  waiter,  telling  him 
that  another  gentleman  was  coming.  Perhaps,  he, 
too,  would  know  her !  She  became  terrified.  She 
should  have  refused  to  come  to  this  informal  little 
dinner  party,  and  kept  to  her  resolution  never  to  dine 
out!  A  panic  seized  her.  Anyone  might  see  her 
and  recognise  her  here !  She  must  go  ! 

Hurriedly  she  rose,  pushing  back  her  chair. 

"  I  must  go  home,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice  to 
William,  who  looked  at  her  in  consternation.  "  I  am 
ill  and  feel  faint.  Get  me  away.  Quickly " 

With  a  few  murmured  words  of  apology  she  left 
the  table,  accompanied  by  the  big  Australian.  They 
walked  quickly  down  through  the  rooms  to  the  door. 

"  Get  me  a  cab,  please,  and  I  will  go  home  alone. 
I  shall  be  all  right.  You  go  back  and  finish  your 
dinner,"  she  said. 

"  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  he  replied,  almost 
angrily. 

They  had  just  reached  the  entrance  of  the  res- 
taurant when  the  doors  opened,  and  old  Ivan  walked 
slowly  in  and  came  immediately  face  to  face  with  her. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

THEY  stood  face  to  face  in  the  doorway  of  the  gay, 
glittering  Florentine  caft — Ivan  and  Theodora.  The 
old  man  trembled,  then  uttered  a  loud  cry. 

"  Jt  is  she  !    Lady  Allingham  !  " 

He  seized  her  hand,  and  kissed  it  wildly,  his  old, 
blue  eyes  filling  with  quick,  emotional  tears  at  the 
sight  of  the  dear  familiar  face  and  figure  of  his 
"  Princess's  little  one." 

Theodora  turned  very  pale.  East  was  beside  her. 
He  heard.  He  saw.  What  on  earth  would  he  think  ? 
And  how  would  he  act  ? 

She  drew  away  her  hand.  "  Hush  !  Hush,  Ivan  ! 
I  beg  you  not  to  make  a  scene  here,"  she  said  rapidly, 
in  the  language  of  their  own  country. 

"  But  don't  go  !  Oh,  don't  leave  me ! "  cried  Ivan, 
imploringly. 

"  I  must." 

East  was  motionless  as  a  statue  beside  her.  Not 
a  word  did  he  utter.  Yet  Theodora  felt  an  immense 
sense  of  security  and  protection  in  his  mere  presence 
there,  and  gathering  herself  up  bravely,  she  leaned 
over  Ivan  and  whispered — 

"  Tell  nobody  you  have  seen  me.  Do  not  mention 
it  to  any  living  soul,  as  you  love  me,  Ivan.  It  is  a 
matter  of  the  greatest  importance  to  me,  do  you 
understand  ?  And  you,  what  are  you  doing  here  ? 
Whom  are  you  with  ?  " 

His  answer  stunned  her. 

"  I  am  here  with  Monsieur  Armand  Roche,"  he 
said  ;  "  a  good  friend  to  old  Ivan.  He  waits  me  now 

261 


262  THEODORA'S  HUSBAND 

inside  there,  where  we  dine  together  presently.  Ah, 
see !  There  he  comes.  He  is  walking  down  the 
restaurant  now." 

Theodora's  head  swam.  She  put  out  her  hand 
blindly  towards  East,  who  was  watching  her  intently. 

"  Get  me  away,  quickly.  A  carriage — quickly," 
she  gasped. 

In  one  second,  it  seemed,  East  had  almost  lifted 
her  into  a  carriage  that  stood  at  the  door.  Then  he 
paused  just  for  one  brief  breathing  space.  He  spoke 
to  the  porter  at  the  doorway  and  pressed  gold  into 
his  hand. 

"  Pay  the  other  coachmen  about  here  .not  to 
follow  us,  or,  at  any  rate,  to  delay,"  he  said  rapidly, 
and  jumped  in  beside  Theodora.  They  were  off. 
The  loud  crack  of  the  fat  old  driver's  whip  from 
the  high  front  seat  resounded  high  and  cheerfully 
above  all  the  other  cracking  whips  in  the  crowded, 
narrow,  merry  Via  Calzaioli  as  the  Florentine  ttigants 
went  dashing  along  in  their  beloved  carrozze  to  dine 
on  their  equally  well-beloved  riso,  vitello,  and  the 
inimitable  red  wines  of  Tuscany. 

"And  where  does  the  signore  wish  that  we  go?" 
asked  the  driver,  turning  his  head,  but  never  pausing 
a  moment  in  his  wild  career  along  the  crowded  streets, 
where  pedestrians  are  obliged  to  take  good  care  of 
themselves,  for  the  one  who  is  run  over  is  the  one  who 
has  to  pay  the  damages  in  Italy ! 

"  Drive  in  and  out  all  over  the  place  for  some  time, 
and  eventually  put  us  down  in  a  little  back  street  quite 
near  the  Hotel  de  la  Ville,"  said  East,  immediately. 

"  Benissimo.  Very  well,"  came  the  cheerful 
response. 

He  was  not  a  Florentine  for  nothing,  that  fat  old 
Borea  Luigi,  with  his  top  hat  and  the  enormous  whip 
which  he  never  stopped  cracking.  He  had  under- 
stood perfectly  from  the  moment  East  lifted  Theodora 
into  the  carriage.  This  was  an  adventure.  They 
were  escaping  some  one,  these  two  Inglesi.  He 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  263 

would  see  that  they  were  not  caught  up.  One  glance 
had  told  him  with  the  extraordinary,  incomprehensible 
swiftness  and  subtlety  of  the  Florentine  that  the  signore 
there  was  a  very  rich  man,  and  that  he  would  do 
anything  on  earth  for  that  beautiful,  white-faced  lady 
with  the  heavenly  eye  and  elegant  figure.  There  was 
money  in  this,  thought  Luigi,  contentedly. 

On  and  on  he  drove,  and  always  where  the  crowd 
was  densest 

Armand  Roche  in  another  carriage  was  searching 
vainly  for  them,  quite  unconscious  that  his  own  man 
had  been  paid  not  to  succeed  in  the  pursuit  and  had 
been  told  that  the  other  gentleman  was  far  richer 
than  this  one. 

They  crossed  the  Ponte  Vecchio,  and  the  moon 
was  seen  rising  over  the  yellow  old  river,  and  shining 
far  and  wide  on  the  great  white  valley,  and  the  snow 
that  powdered  so  softly  the  distant  purple  mountains  ; 
they  dashed  past  the  Pitti  Palace,  with  its  wonderful 
treasures,  where  the  Count  of  Turin  has  his  home 
when  in  Florence ;  they  passed  Casa  Guidi,  where 
the  Brownings  lived,  and  a  street  lamp  shone  on  the 
marble  memorial  over  the  door  saying,  in  lovely 
Italian  words,  that  here  had  lived  the  poetess  who 
drew  a  golden  ring  round  Italy  and  England;  they 
made  a  long  passage  down  an  endless  narrow  back 
street,  full  of  wine  -  shops,  picture  -  framers',  and 
jewellers'.  And  then  they  recrossed  the  river  by 
the  Ponte  S.  Trinita,  and,  dashing  down  Via  Parione, 
stopped  some  short  distance  away  from  the  Hotel 
de  la  Ville. 

"Signore,  we  are  safe.  We  are  not  followed," 
said  Luigi,  dramatically,  breaking  into  flowery  and 
picturesque  thanks  at  the  gold  that  East  had  pressed 
into  his  long  brown  hand. 

In  silence  East  and  Theodora  entered  the  hotel 
and  made  their  way  up  to  the  magnificent  apartments 
of  Mrs.  Ellerton  overlooking  the  river. 

Theodora  sank  into  a  chair  and  leaned  her  head 


264  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

back  against  a  cushion.  They  were  alone.  The  old 
lady  had  retired  to  her  bedroom,  for  she  had  not  been 
one  of  the  party  to-night,  though  she  had  insisted  on 
Theodora  going. 

"  It  was  very  good  of  you,"  said  Theodora  at 
last,  breaking  the  breathless  silence  that  seemed  to 
surround  them. 

"We  pulled  it  off,  anyway,"  said  East,  with  a 
little  laugh. 

He  stood  in  front  of  her,  watching  her  as  she  lay 
back  there  in  the  big  chair  with  the  light  from  the 
rose-shaded  lamps  casting  a  soft  glow  over  the  un- 
natural whiteness  of  her  face,  and  making  her  look 
more  than  ordinarily  beautiful  in  this  moment  of 
helplessness  and  distress.  All  East's  manhood  was 
stirred  at  the  sight  of  her,  this  lovely  girl,  who  had 
evidently  some  great  mystery  surrounding  her.  What 
could  it  be  ?  Of  one  thing  he  was  absolutely  certain. 
He  would  have  staked  his  life  upon  it.  She  had  done 
no  wrong.  She  was  incapable  of  wrong-doing,  this 
girl.  He  was  sure  of  it.  He  was  so  sure  of  it,  in 
fact,  that  it  delighted  him  to  see  his  mother  in  her 
company,  the  greatest  proof  a  man  can  give  of  his 
belief  in  a  woman's  goodness. 

"  We  were  too  quick  for  them,"  he  added,  un- 
conscious of  the  tender  note  that  had  crept  into  his 
voice.  "  And  what's  the  next  step  to  be  ?  "  he  asked, 
drawing  a  chair  forward  and  sitting  down  in  front 
of  her. 

"The  next  step  must  be  that  I  go  from  here 
immediately,"  said  Theodora. 

"  Immediately ! "     He  echoed  the  word  blankly. 

"Yes — yes,  to-night,"  she  replied.  "This  very 
night  if  possible." 

If  her  words  were  a  blow  to  him  he  gave  no  sign. 
He  sat  and  looked  at  her  quietly,  giving  her  the 
impression  that  he  was  using  all  his  powers  of  thought 
and  energy  on  her  behalf  to  help  her  out  of  this 
difficulty,  whatever  it  was. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  265 

"You  can't  go  to-night,  Miss  Wood,"  he  said 
gravely.  "  I  fear  that's  out  of  the  question.  But 
look  here,"  he  said  in  his  Australian  way,  "you've 
had  nothing  to  eat  but  one  anchovy,  and  this  will 
never  do.  That  wretched  interruption  to  your  dinner 
mustn't  be  allowed  to  unfit  you  physically  before  you 
set  out  on  another  journey.  You  must  eat,  my  child, 
you  must  eat." 

He  jumped  up  and  rang  the  bell,  and  when  the 
waiter  appeared,  he  ordered  dinner  for  two  to  be 
served  there  immediately.  Soup — chicken — salad — 
champagne — subitissimo — very  quickly. 

"  Siibitissimo"  echoed  the  waiter,  and  a  few 
moments  later  the  dinner  arrived. 

In  spite  of  Theodora's  protest  she  was  made  to 
eat  whether  she  would  or  not. 

He  treated  her  like  a  little  girl,  this  big  man,  and 
she  wholly  liked  the  sensation. 

What  was  there  about  that  was  so  familiar,  so 
sweet  ?  A  soothingness  seemed  to  come  over  the 
world  with  all  its  fret,  and  care,  and  strife,  and 
confusion,  and  distress.  A  magic  wand  seemed  to  be 
stretching  out  and  moving  everything  away.  It  was 
East.  The  kindly  spirit  in  this  big  man  was  making 
itself  felt  and  carrying  comfort  to  her  heart.  He 
poured  out  champagne  for  her,  and  smilingly  bade 
her  drink  it. 

"  Then  the  world  will  look  different  a  bit,"  he  said 
gaily. 

She  roused  herself.  "  You  are  extraordinarily 
good  to  me,"  she  said,  "  and  I  feel  so  horrid.  I  would 
like  to  make  a  confidant  of  you.  I  so  absolutely 
trust  you." 

"That's  good,"  said  East,  laconically. 

"  But  I  can't  confide  in  you,"  she  added  patheti- 
cally. 

"  It  isn't  necessary." 

He  looked  after  her  in  silence  for  a  few  moments, 
seeing  that  she  really  ate  something  and  did  not 


266  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

merely  play  with  her  food.  And  all  the  while  he  was 
thinking — thinking.  She  wanted  to  escape  detection. 
That  was  it.  She  must  get  away.  Evidently  it  was 
dangerous  for  her  to  stay  in  Florence.  She  was  not 
Margaret  Wood.  She  was  a  lady  with  a  title.  He 
had  not  quite  caught  the  name  that  she  had  been 
addressed  by,  but  he  heard  them  call  her  "  Lady  " 
some  one  or  other.  She  had  run  away  from  home. 
That  was  it.  Well,  he  was  going  to  stand  by  her. 
In  his  own  words,  he  was  going  to  see  her  through. 
He  got  up  and  gave  himself  a  great  shake,  and  came 
and  stood  beside  her,  looking  down  on  her  with  a 
kind  and  brotherly  expression  in  which  was  mingled 
also  a  note  of  something  that  was  not  altogether  only 
brotherly. 

"  Listen  to  me  a  moment,"  he  said.  "  There  is  a 
train  to-night  at  eleven  for  the  north."  He  was  look- 
ing at  his  watch.  "  It's  now  half-past  nine.  Tell  me, 
is  it  absolutely  necessary  that  you  disappear  from 
Florence  immediately  ?  " 

She  looked  up  into  his  grey  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  simply  ;  "  otherwise  I  run  a  risk, 
a  risk  that  I  do  not  wish  to  run.  Two  people  to-day 
have  seen  me.  They  know  I  am  here.  One  of  them 
is  a  terribly  sharp,  acute  Frenchman,  a  most  up-to- 
date  Parisian,  and  a  journalist  too.  He'll  leave  no 
stone  unturned  to  find  me.  In  fact,  I  am  absolutely 
certain  that  he  will  find  me  unless  I  go  at  once." 

He  nodded. 

"  I  see,"  he  said  reflectively,  his  eyes  intent  upon 
her  lovely  face.  "  Then  there  is  only  one  thing  to  do. 
We  will  all  go  immediately." 

"All!" 

She  started  at  his  words. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  cried,  rising  to  her 
feet  and  standing  there  slim  and  straight  and  tall 
beside  him,  and  looking  up  at  him  with  such  an 
appealing  glance  that  he  had  to  overmaster  an  almost 
overwhelming  inclination  to  put  his  arms  round  her 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  267 

and  draw  her  towards  him,  though  she  was  utterly 
unconscious  of  it. 

"  Yes !  it's  all  right,"  he  said.  "  My  mother  and 
I  will  come  too.  I'll  telegraph  at  once  to  Innsbruck 

for  rooms "  Then  he  changed  his  mind  suddenly 

and  said  :  "  No,  a  wiser  thing  would  be  to  telegraph 
from  Verona  instead  of  Florence,  so  as  not  to  run  any 
risk  of  our  destination  being  known.  We  can  have 
our  letters  sent  to  Cook's,  at  Vienna,  and  then  re- 
forwarded  down  to  us.  Not  a  soul  in  Florence  need 
know  where  we've  gone.  The  only  thing  is  we  have 
very  little  time  to  dress,  pack,  and  catch  our  train." 

Theodora  listened  in  paralysed  silence,  scarcely 
believing  her  ears. 

He  touched  her  gently  on  the  arm. 

"  Wake  up,"  he  said  laughing,  "  there  is  no  time 
to  lose.  I'm  off  to  my  mother  to  arrange  with  her." 

"  Oh,  but  it's  impossible — impossible  !  "  burst  out 
Theodora  at  last.  "  How  can  I  permit  you  to  do 
all  this  for  me  ?  How  can  I  ever  repay  you  for  your 
kindness  ? " 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  East,  with  a  little  enigmatic 
smile. 

"  And  how  can  I  allow  your  mother — an  old  lady 
like  that — to  take  this  long  and  trying  journey  at  a 
moment's  notice  in  the  cold  of  a  winter's  night  ? " 

"  That's  all  right  too,"  he  replied.  "  My  mother's 
an  Australian,  and  she  won't  think  any  more  of  a 
thing  like  this  than  if  I  asked  her  to  buy  me  some 
handkerchiefs  to-morrow  morning  at  a  shop." 

He  bent  over  her  suddenly,  and  looked  right  into 
her  eyes. 

"  Let  us  trust  each  other,"  he  said.  "  I  told  you 
I  would  be  your  pal — I'm  jolly  glad  to  have  had  a 
chance  of  proving  my  words." 

Then  he  was  gone,  with  a  last  word  to  her  to  begin 
to  pack  immediately. 

Was  it  all  a  dream,  she  thought,  as  she  stood  in 
her  own  rooms  a  few  minutes  later.  The  blinds  were 


268  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

up.  She  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out,  but  she 
scarcely  knew  what  city  it  was  lying  there  along  the 
moving  river  in  the  silver  winter  moonlight.  It  might 
have  been  a  dream  city  ;  blurred  with  distress  and 
anxiety,  her  mind  and  its  images  had  removed  them- 
selves into  far  distance,  as  sometimes  happened  after 
sleep.  Was  she  a  real  woman,  she  thought  ?  She 
stared  stupidly  out.  Was  that  indeed  a  real  city? 
All  yellow  with  dust  and  age  it  lay,  this  Florence  of 
the  narrow  streets  and  high  houses,  with  the  Arno 
stealing  through  it.  The  old  houses  across  the  river 
were  lost  in  shadow,  but  the  spire  of  Santo  Spirito 
maintained  its  perfect  outline,  high  up  in  the  moon- 
light. There  was  the  river  going  by,  swollen  and 
golden,  and  singing  like  the  sea.  And,  rising  above 
its  song,  soared  voices  on  Lung'  Arno,  singing  passion- 
ately into  the  night.  Right  under  her  window  stood 
a  tenor,  whose  voice  thrilled  and  swelled  with  that 
sublime  let-go  that  never  is  heard  out  of  Italy,  not 
even  when  carried  out  of  it  by  opera  managers.  Rain 
began  to  fall,  but  he  took  no  heed,  though  when  the 
pennies  came  he  would  return  to  earth  with  a  smile. 
Little  carts  flashed  by,  casting  wonderful  orange  glows 
into  the  dark.  No  art  could  achieve  anything  more 
beautiful.  Yet  they  were  only  tapers  wrapped  with 
brown  paper — those  exquisite  mellow,  half-gold,  half- 
orange  lights  that  crept  up  about  the  faces  of  the 
drivers  of  the  carts,  softening  their  features  as  sunset 
softens  the  world.  Little  wandering  isles  of  gold, 
they  passed  up  and  down  the  night.  And  far,  far  away, 
down  the  river,  beyond  all  the  bridges,  a  strange  last 
drift  of  red  sunset  faded  behind  the  dark,  dim  moun- 
tains at  the  valley's  western  end  towards  the  Cascine. 
How  gay  Florence  was  to-night !  Carriages  dashed 
by,  taking  the  dark  Florentine  beauties  home  to  their 
palazzos.  Crowds  of  English  and  Americans  were 
out,  too.  Theodora  watched  them  dazedly.  Never 
was  there  such  a  city  for  beautiful  hats.  Dozens  and 
dozens  went  by. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  269 

She  flew  round  her  room  like  lightning,  throwing 
her  things  together  recklessly,  and  in  ten  minutes 
she  was  ready,  and  hastened  to  Mrs.  Ellerton's  room, 
where  the  maid  was  already  hard  at  work  packing  up. 

"  How  can  I  ever  thank  you  ?  "  began  Theodora ; 
but  the  elder  woman  interrupted  her  with  a  smile. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  don't  try  ;  there's  no  need 
to." 

She  put  her  arms  gently  round  the  slim,  graceful 
figure  in  the  black  travelling-dress  and  kissed  her  on 
each  cheek. 

"  We  may  find  out  a  way  some  day,  Miss  Wood," 
she  whispered — "  a  way  in  which  you  can  thank  me." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  so  ! "  cried  Theodora,  sincerely. 

Utterly  unconscious  was  she  of  the  significance 
that  lay  beneath  the  old  lady's  words. 

At  eleven  o'clock  that  night  they  all  set  out  for 
the  Tyrol,  a  long  journey  to  be  taken  at  such  short 
notice. 

But  East  laughed  at  difficulties.  Everything  was 
perfectly  arranged,  and  he  seemed  justified  in  making 
light  of  their  impromptu  travels.  Rugs,  foot-warmers, 
cushions,  magazines,  hampers — nothing  was  forgotten. 

The  light  of  the  train  was  shining  in  his  eyes  as 
he  turned  to  Theodora,  who  was  thickly  veiled  and 
wrapped  in  furs  of  Mrs.  Ellerton's  which  reached  up 
almost  to  her  eyes. 

"  Nobody  could  recognise  you,"  he  said  softly. 
"  We  have  done  the  thing  in  great  style,  haven't  we  ? 
Now  we're  off  to  the  Land  of  the  Winter  Sports — 
that's  the  way  to  look  at  it,  isn't  it  ?  "  But  under  his 
breath  he  added  a  word  which  she  did  not  hear.  It 
was  a  little  word  of  four  letters,  often  used  and  quite 
insignificant ;  but,  somehow,  he  preferred  to  keep  it 
back  where  she  would  not  hear  it.  It  was  the  word 
"dear." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THE  love  of  the  Count  de  Rigos  for  his  handsome, 
dark-haired  wife  had  increased  almost  daily,  if  such  a 
thing  were  possible,  during  the  short  months  of  their 
married  life.  To  him  she  had  come  like  an  angel  of 
peace  from  the  very  first  time,  when,  by  that  lucky 
accident,  they  had  met  at  the  hotel  in  London. 

And  now  ? 

All  of  a  sudden,  in  one  moment,  his  whole  happi- 
ness, the  golden  castle  in  which  he  had  been  living, 
appeared  to  be  toppling  once  more  about  his  ears, 
and,  as  so  often  happens,  all  through  a  few  chance 
words. 

The  careless  phrases  of  two  gossiping  servants 
reached  him  as  he  was  walking  abstractedly  down  the 
corridor  that  morning.  They  were  talking  of  their 
mistress  and  of  Mrs.  Hawkins.  The  English  girl's 
tone  and  words  still  rang  in  his  head  as  he  sat  in  his 
study,  moodily  gazing  out  of  the  window  at  the  bare 
trees  of  the  Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees. 

"  So  Mrs.  Hawkins  has  gone,  has  she  ? "  said  one. 

"  Yes.  And  isn't  my  lady  in  a  way.  He  sent  her 
away  first,  not  her.  'And  and  glove,  that's  what  they 
were,  my  lady  and  Mrs.  H.  And  a  bad  lot  was  the 
old  woman,  and  " — in  a  whisper — "  the  Countess,  too, 
if  all  my  young  man  tells  me  is  true  of  her  gambling 
and  debts  and  goings  on  at  Monte  Carlo  before  she 
met  him  and  his  money." 

De  Rigos  listened  spellbound,  not  daring  to  inter- 
rupt them. 

"I've  heard  of  some  curious  things  the  old  cat 
270 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  271 

Hawkins  'as  done,"  went  on  the  other,  "  and  she  knew 
of  them  too.     Wonder  he  didn't  twig  it  all  before." 

"What  things?" 

"  Oh,  all  sorts.  I  ain't  one  to  gossip,  and  I  keep 
a  quiet  tongue ;  but  there's  no  doubt  as  'ow  Mrs. 
Hawkins  and  my  lady  have  humbugged  'im  all 
the  time " 

The  voices  died  away  as  the  door  was  closed  to. 

For  fully  two  minutes  De  Rigos  stood  rooted  to 
the  spot,  unable  to  move,  even  unable  to  think  clearly. 

That  these  servants  should  dare  to  talk  thus  of  a 
mistress  who  was  goodness  itself  to  them  did  not  at 
first  strike  him  as  peculiar,  but  the  tone  of  absolute 
conviction  and  the  silent  acceptance  of  the  statements 
by  the  two  talkers  struck  him  coldly  and  forcibly  like 
an  icy  hand.  So  they  were  in  the  habit  of  discussing 
their  mistress  in  this  strain !  The  kitchen  knew  for 
a  fact  that  the  Countess  de  Rigos  was  "hand  and 
glove  "  with  a  dreadful  and  abandoned  old  woman ! 
That  she  was  a  gambler  and  had  married  him  for  his 
wealth !  It  was  common  property.  Was  it  true 
that  those  sort  of  people  saw  most  of  the  game, 
and  always  knew  ?  That  was  how  the  society  papers 
got  their  news,  he  thought,  laughing  aloud  bitterly. 
All  his  former  suspicions  returned  with  a  rush,  and 
he  felt  for  a  moment  that  he  hated  her. 

His  mind  was  a  prey  to  doubt  and  imagination  ; 
all  his  thoughts  were  chaos ;  he  did  not  know  what 
to  think  or  say. 

On  some  pretence  or  other  he  kept  out  all  day, 
not  knowing  what  to  do  or  where  to  go  in  his  misery, 
praying  instinctively,  with  all  the  power  of  which  he 
was  capable,  that  this  suspicion  and  pain  might  not 
turn  to  rage,  for  then  he  knew  that  he  would  not  be 
able  to  account  for  his  actions.  The  shadow  of  his 
former  love  still  hung  darkly  in  the  background,  and 
although  he  dared  not  look  back  he  felt  it  there. 

The  absence  of  the  Count  during  all  that  day  had 
curiously  affected  his  wife,  Usually  she  seldom  saw 


272  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

him  much  before  mid-day,  and  if,  by  any  chance,  he 
had  been  obliged  to  go  out  or  stop  away,  she  had 
been  quite  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  a  nice  free 
time  to  herself,  and  she  had  often  spent  it  in  many 
little  ways  which  would  have  surprised  her  husband, 
could  he  have  seen  her. 

But  to-day  she  felt  a  strange  feeling  of  annoyance 
when  she  was  told  by  her  maid,  in  response  to  the 
request  that  she  should  ask  her  master  to  come  to 
the  boudoir  after  lunch,  which  she  had  alone,  that  he 
would  not  return  until  dinner  time. 

It  was  strange  for  him  to  go  out  and  leave  her 
without  a  word,  and  it  had  never  happened  before, 
never  once  since  they  had  been  married !  What  did 
it  mean  ?  He  was  always  so  thoughtful,  surely  he 
could  not  have  forgotten.  But  he  must  have  done  so, 
or  else  she  was  obliged  to  conclude  that  he  had  pur- 
posely left  her  without  a  word. 

Where  had  he  gone,  she  wondered  ?  Probably 
out  to  lunch  at  the  club,  or — but  no,  that  was  too 
stupid.  Surely  he  could  not  have  gone  to  keep  an 
appointment  with  some  other  woman  ?  The  thought 
struck  her  strangely.  It  could  not  be.  And  yet  if  it 
were  so,  why  not  ?  What  on  earth  did  it  matter  to 
her  ?  In  fact,  it  would  be  better  like  that ;  she  would 
be  free,  and  the  way  would  be  made  clear  for  a 
separation.  Yes,  what  did  she  care  ?  She  was  glad, 
rather.  But  her  clear,  evenly  balanced  brain  refused 
to  allow  her  to  credit  herself  with  this  delightful 
solution  to  the  problem.  She  looked  into  her  own 
mind  and  analysed  her  feelings  and  sentiments 
critically  and  acutely,  and  found,  to  her  horror,  the 
opposite.  She  did  care,  and  very  much  indeed,  too ! 
Her  husband  the  slave  of  another  woman  ?  Never  ! 

"Ah,  but  this  is  jealousy,"  she  murmured  aloud, 
in  open  amazement  at  herself.  "  I  jealous  !  Good 
Heaven,  it's  too  absurd !  I,  too,  must  be  going  mad 
even  to  imagine  such  a  thing  of  myself  for  one 
moment." 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  273 

But  she  could  not  deceive  herself,  as  she  had 
done>  so  many  others  often  and  easily.  The  fact 
remained  as  if  it  had  been  branded  upon  her  b  rain 
with  a  red-hot  iron.  She  was  jealous  ofher  husband 
and  now  she  was  almost  certain  that  he  had  gone  to 
see  some  other  beautiful  woman. 

The  thought  was  too  much  for  her,  and  she  rose 
abruptly  and  paced  the  room.  The  idea  that  at  that 
very  moment  her  husband  might  be  looking  nto 

aSeeS 


hnf^f  ^-!SerS!lf'  She  P°ndered»  she  might  be  jealous, 
but  that  did  not  mean  anything.    Lots  of  people  were 

S±S  f  llthei^°Wn  Pr°pert*  and  he  was  ^rs      It 
did  not  follow  that  it  meant  love  for  him  ;  far  from  it. 

And    yet  her  clear-working   brain   refused   onr^ 
more  to  accept  this  decision.  gShe  almost3  believed 

But  *  would  be  to     ' 


Sweet  ?  What  a  word  to  use  in  conjunction  with 
her  feelings  !  As  a  rule  they  were  far  from  svvlet 
even  when  she  spoke,  most  charmingly,  the  moTt  lovin^ 
words  ,„  her  carefully  studied  vocabulary^  and  ^  took 
his  hand  as  she  uttered  the  beautiful  little^phrase 

vvr,     \  .Ughedual°ud    Did  she  love  him?    Love' 
Why,  what  was  that  ? 

"  Am  I  going  to  fall  a  victim  in  my  old  a^e  ?  "  she 
cried  mockingly.  «  Ifs  too  absurd  !  " 

She  rose  again,  and  went  swiftly  into  her  dressing 
room  summoning  her  maid  as  she  did  so 

I  wiH  dress  early  to-night,"  she  said.'  «  I  want  to 
try  the  effect  of  that  new  frock  with  my  sapphiTes  '' 

The  maid  was  delighted.  She  was  an  a  tist  bv 
nature  in  all  things  appertaining  to  the  toilette  and  of 
late  her  mistress  had  seemed  strangely  cold  or  else 
preoccupied  and  uninterested  in  wha?  she  was  wearing 

She  unpacked  the  great  box  which  had  arrived  \a 
few  hours  ago  from  a  world-famous  coutnrre  ^ 


T 


274  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

drew  out  carefully  from  its  many  wrappings  of  tissue 
paper  the  exquisite  shimmering  gown  of  pale  blue 
shading  into  deepest  purple.  The  lovely  fairy-like 
texture  and  the  clever  daintiness  of  the  glitter- 
ing folds  drew  forth  exclamations  of  delight  both 
from  the  Countess  and  her  maid,  and  as  the  former 
stood  before  her  mirror  some  moments  later  arrayed 
in  the  gorgeous  frock  with  its  perfectly  cut  sheath- 
like  lines  falling  from  her  slim,  rounded  form  in  a 
wonderful  shimmer  of  silk  and  diamond-strewn  lace, 
she  even  forgot  her  troubles  for  a  time  in  the  con- 
templation of  herself,  for  the  picture  was  undoubtedly 
beautiful.  The  tones  of  the  gown  showed  the  dark 
hair  and  pale  oval  face  in  strange  combination.  A 
delicate  flush  was  overspreading  her  cheeks,  and  the 
deep,  dark  eyes  glowed  like  stars.  The  gown  was  cut 
low,  for  the  artist  who  had  created  it  had  not  failed  to 
take  advantage  of  the  beautiful  shoulders  and  figure 
of  his  client. 

"  I  think  that  will  do,"  murmured  the  Countess,  as 
she  turned  away  smilingly  and  made  her  way  out  of 
the  room  towards  her  husband's  study,  having  heard 
that  he  had  come  in. 

She  knocked  gently  at  the  door,  her  heart  beating 
wildly  with  excitement,  and  entered  slowly. 

The  room  was  in  darkness  save  for  the  flames  of  a 
huge  fire  by  which  the  Count  was  sitting  with  a  book 
idly  in  his  hands. 

He  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  her  as  she  swept 
gracefully  across  the  room.  The  firelight  caught  the 
sparkle  of  the  diamonds  and  the  shimmer  of  her  frock 
as  she  trailed  its  undulating  folds  across  the  thick  rugs. 

He  could  not  help  thinking  how  lovely  she  looked, 
and  sadly  he  tried  for  a  moment  to  reconcile  her  frank 
and  charming  smile  with  the  deceit  and  treachery 
which  he  feared  were  within  her  heart. 

"All  in  the  dark,  dearest,"  she  exclaimed  softly, 
in  her  musical  tones.  "  How  charming  it  is  in  here  ! 
I  have  dressed  early  to  have  a  little  chat  with  you." 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  275 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,"  he  answered,  almost 
coldly.  The  tone  of  his  voice  struck  her  to  the  heart. 

Artifice  and  wiles  no  longer  stood  her  in  good 
stead. 

She  tried  to  gather  herself  together,  and  made 
one  of  her  old,  sweetly-worded  speeches  in  the  old 
way  about  holding  out  the  hand  of  hope  to  those 
whom  only  a  good  woman  could  comfort. 

De  Rigos  laughed  aloud. 

"  Our  conversation  is  getting  so  artificial,"  he  said, 
switching  on  the  lights,  "  that  we  need  artificial  light, 
I  think,  to  continue  it." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

As  the  dawn  broke  over  sleeping  Paris,  arousing  the 
early,  hard-working  shop-people,  and  once  more  letting 
loose  the  early  morning  traffic  to  rumble  through  the 
rough-paved  side  streets  and  rattle  over  the  great 
boulevards,  the  Countess  de  Rigos  fell  into  a  restless 
slumber.  Her  wakeful  night,  following  on  the  troubled 
events  of  the  day,  had  exhausted  her,  and  nature 
asserted  herself,  causing  her  to  sleep,  and — for  an 
hour  or  two  at  least — be  free  from  the  maddening 
thoughts  which  haunted  her  waking  hours. 

But  this  merciful  repose  was  not  to  last  long. 
Towards  nine  o'clock  she  woke,  as  her  maid  entered 
softly  to  draw  back  the  blinds  and  bring  to  the  bed- 
side the  little  tray  bearing  an  exquisite  service  of 
Sevres  in  which  the  Countess's  morning  chocolate  was 
always  served. 

The  maid  expressed  herself  in  sympathetic  and 
concerned  accents  when  she  saw  her  mistress's  face. 

"  But  my  lady  has  not  slept  well !     She  is  ill  ? " 

"No,  no.  I  am  quite  well,  only  a  little  tired," 
replied  the  Countess  hastily,  for  the  idea  of  sympathy 
was  repugnant  to  her  strong,  self-reliant  nature.  She 
drank  the  delicious  chocolate  slowly,  thinking  hard 
all  the  time. 

A  little  of  her  wonted  courage  began  to  return 
to  her. 

She  felt  that  she  must  rise  to  meet  this  new  and, 
as  yet,  inexperienced  situation  ;  just  as  she  had  met 
and  conquered  others  of  a  different  kind  before  it,  so 
must  she  fight  this  one  boldly  and  courageously.  One 

276 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  277 

never  gained  anything  yet  by  sitting  still,  she  told  her- 
self, and,  with  a  rather  more  cheerful  feeling,  she  rose 
and,  aided  by  her  maid,  began  the  mysteries  of  her 
toilet  Her  face  looked  white  and  drawn  as  she  gazed 

nto  the  mirror  while  the  clever  fingers  of  her  maid 
the  final  touches  to  her  magnificent  dark  hair, 
but  a  few  artistic  little  effects  soon  remedied  that 
and  as  she  slipped  into  an  exquisite  house  gown  of 
bois-de-rose  chiffon  velvet,  the  clinging  skirt  draped 
with  slightly  upward  curving  draperies,  the  bodice  of 
delicate  old  lace  over  slurred  rose  chiffon,  she  looked 
almost  her  old  self.  The  delighted  little  exclamation 

t  ner  maid,  who  adored  her,  told  her  so. 

fv,  f\heuC?unt  met  her  in  the  halL     She  supposed 
that  he  had  been  out,  as  he  was  wearing  a  fur  coat 

He  addressed  her  with  his  usual  unfailing  polite- 
ness, asking  her  to  come  into  the  library. 

Silently  she  acquiesced,  and  followed  him  almost 

lumbly  into  the  luxurious  room,  which  for  her  had 

now  none  but  bitter  memories.     She  glanced  round 

and   shivered.     How  often   she  and  Ignace  had  sat 

side  by  side  on  the  low  settee  by  the  fire,  beguiling 

the  hours  away  with  long  confidential  talks,  in  which 

:   said    her  confidences   were   not  unfrequently 

matters  of  her  own   imagination,  for  even   in   their 

most  intimate  moments  she  had  always  had  to  act 

a  part  to  him.     He  closed  the  door  after  her  now 

^ance  ^^  at  ^  With  *  rather  Peculia^ 

"  I  am  glad  I  met  you,"  said  he,  quietly.  "  I  was 
just  going  to  leave  a  note  for  you,  as  I  did  not  wish 
to  disturb  you.  I  am  leaving  directly  for  the  Riviera 
1  am  going  to  Monte  Carlo.  I  feel  I  want  a  change.' 
The  cold  of  Pans,"  he  added  bitterly,  •<  the  atmosphere 
of  this  house,  does  not  suit  me.  I  am  feeling  ill  •• 

You  are  feeling  ill  ?  •'  exclaimed  his  wife,  her  face 

lighting  up  with  genuine  concern.    "  Oh,  but- " 

"You  need  not  concern  yourself  about  me  thank 
you,"   interrupted  the    Count,   coldly.     '•  I    shall    be 


278 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 


perfectly  right  soon.  It  is  merely  a  little  passing 
indisposition,  and  is  of  no  consequence  whatever." 

His  words  cut  her  to  the  heart. 

Their  meaning  was  only  too  obvious.  Bluntly, 
they  meant  that  his  actions  or  feelings  were  no  longer 
any  business  of  hers. 

He  had  done  with  her  ! 

But  she  felt  that  this  was  no  moment  for  words. 
He  was  a  man  ;  he  must  be  allowed  to  go  his  own 
way.  Meanwhile,  she  would  think  out  something. 
Surely  she  could  :  some  means  by  which  she  could  win 
him  back  and  reinstate  herself  in  his  affections.  Her 
wits  had  never  failed  her  yet,  and  they  should  not  now. 

But  the  Countess  de  Rigos  was  in  deep  and 
unaccustomed  waters.  The  tactics  which  had  enabled 
her  to  battle  with  and  overcome  apparently  insur- 
mountable objects  were  almost  useless  as  weapons  to 
fight  in  the  cause  of  love.  She  was  far  too  clever  a 
woman  not  to  realise  this  in  the  back  of  her  mind, 
but  her  emotions  forced  her  to  try.  She  must,  at  least, 
make  an  attempt  to  gain  her  ends. 

Her  husband  had  moved  away,  and  was  putting 
some  letters  together  at  his  bureau,  preparatory  to 
locking  them  up.  He  did  not  come  over  to  her  and 
kiss  her  in  response  to  her  softly  murmured  accents 
of  farewell,  merely  responding  by  a  few  half-jesting 
words  about  his  coming  back  soon,  which  relaxed  a 
little  the  tension  of  a  very  uncomfortable  moment. 
The  Countess,  who  never  lost  her  head  in  any  situation, 
took  her  tone  from  him,  and,  nodding  brightly,  albeit 
her  smile  was  strained  had  he  seen  it,  prepared  to 
leave  the  room  silently,  when  his  words  arrested  her. 

"  There  is  something  I  want  to  find  out  at  Monte 
Carlo — several  things — as  much  as  I  can,  in  fact. 
You  have  been  there  often,  I  believe  !  Is  it  not  so  ? " 

"  I !     Oh  yes — yes,  certainly.     Often,"  she  replied. 

Not  until  the  moment  when  she  was  safely  in  the 
privacy  of  her  own  boudoir  did  she  realise  the  full 
meaning  of  the  situation. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  279 

She  sank  into  a  deep  chair,  overcome  for  a  moment 
by  the  enormity  of  it.  Her  husband  had  gone  to 
Monte  Carlo.  Why  ?  He  was  going  to  find  out 
about  her.  She  knew  it — she  was  certain  of  it. 
She  recalled  his  tone  as  he  had  uttered  those 
words.  "  Something  I  want  to  find  out  ...  as  much 
as  I  can,  in  fact.  .  .  .  You  have  been  there  often.  Is 
it  not  so  ?  "  There  had  been  just  a  touch  of  embarrass- 
ment as  he  had  first  mentioned  the  name  of  his 
destination.  He  was  too  honest  to  be  able  to  hide 
anything  really  successfully  from  her. 

"  Now  I  should  have  said  that  I  was  going  else- 
where," she  told  herself,  with  a  sad  smile.  "  But  oh  ! 
what  a  beast  I  am ! "  she  exclaimed  involuntarily, 
hating  herself  as  she  saw  herself  in  her  true  colours, 
her  character  hopelessly  laid  bare  by  the  searching 
rays  of  love.  "  Oh,  let  him  go  to  Monte  Carlo  !  Let 
him  find  out  all  about  me  and  my  gambling — I,  who 
said  I  hated  gambling  so !  I  don't  care !  What 
does  it  all  matter,  now  ? "  she  cried  recklessly,  rising 
and  walking  up  and  down,  up  and  down  her  rooms 
in  an  agony  of  mind.  "  What  does  anything  matter 
when  the  one  person  I  love  hates  and  despises  me  ? 
For  he  does  despise  me  !  Oh,  I  wish  I  were  dead  !  " 

The  great  tears  slowly  coursed  down  her  cheeks, 
tears  of  hopeless  rage  borne  against  fate,  of  love,  and, 
above  all,  of  self-pity. 

It  was,  after  all,  fitting  that  she  should  suffer. 
Even  in  her  bitter  and  unrestrained  grief  she  did  not 
for  one  moment  think  of  the  awful  consequences  of 
her  ill  deeds.  She  was  blind  to  the  sorrow  and  tribu- 
lation in  which  she,  from  sheer  spite  and  malice  and 
revengefulness,  had  brought  Sir  George  Allingham  and 
his  beautiful  young  wife.  Sir  George  Allingham  was 
in  prison.  His  wife  had  left  him !  Of  these  things 
she  did  not  think  for  one  moment.  Much  must  be 
allowed  to  one  suffering  the  unhappiness  of  an  un- 
requited love,  and  only  later  on  was  the  terrible  act 
of  which  she  had  been  guilty  to  be  brought  home  to 


280  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

her.  Incredible  as  it  seems,  she  had  utterly  forgotten 
Sir  George  lying  there  in  gaol,  waiting  his  trial,  help- 
less, self-accused  of  a  crime  of  which  only  she  could 
prove  him  innocent.  What  were  his  thoughts  night 
and  day  as  he  lay  there,  with  little  to  occupy  his 
mind  save  that  one  awful  idea,  the  conviction  of  his 
wife's  guilt  ?  The  terrible  days  and  nights  passed 
in  hopeless,  unavailable  conjecture.  The  ceaseless 
wondering  what  had  made  his  wife,  of  all  people,  a 
common  thief.  The  certainty  that  something  must 
have  been  too  strong  for  her — that  she  had  been  forced 
to  commit  the  crime  by  some  one.  But  by  whom  ? 
His  days  and  nights  passed  as  in  some  horrible  dream. 
And  Theodora,  who  in  Florence  had  been  striving  to 
forget,  was  now  flying  from  the  city  in  which  she 
had  hoped  to  find  a  haven  of  rest  for  her  tired  soul. 
And  Marcel,  robbed  of  the  plans  of  his  airship,  and 
mad  with  rage  and  fear  and  disappointment !  All 
this  was  the  work  of  the  wretched,  weeping  woman 
crouching  there  in  her  lovely  room. 

A  woman  was  she  among  the  most  beautiful  and 
envied  in  all  Paris.  Ah,  could  they  have  seen  her 
now — those  people  who  envied  her  wealth  and  looks ! 
The  humblest  little  dressmaker  would  not  have  ex- 
changed her  position,  even  for  a  moment,  with  this 
sobbing,  heart-broken  creature,  heedless  of  all  in  her 
overwhelming  grief  and  despair. 

The  Count  de  Rigos  was  glad  to  leave  Paris.  He 
had  longed  to  get  away  from  it  ever  since  the 
moment  when  he  had  experienced  those  terrible 
suspicions  of  his  wife's  deceit  and  treachery. 

But  he  had  another  object  in  his  mind  besides  the 
relief  which  he  knew  the  warmth  and  sun  of  the  south 
and  the  freedom  from  the  unbearable  situation  in  his 
home  would  give  him.  He  intended  to  find  out  what 
those  words  he  had  overheard  from  the  gossiping 
servants  meant.  He  earnestly  hoped  that  there  was 
no  truth  in  them,  for  although  he  knew  that  in  many 
ways  she  had  lied  to  him  and  taken  advantage  of  his 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  281 

trusting  nature,  he  shrank  from  the  knowledge  of  any 
new  and  disagreeable  discovery  about  her.  And  yet  he 
felt  that  he  must  learn  all  the  truth. 

This  task  was  not  a  very  difficult  one. 

There  are  many  ways  at  Monte  Carlo  by  which  you 
may  discover  all  about  your  neighbour  and  his  past, 
and  money  opens  most  of  the  doors.  He  soon  learnt 
all  about  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Packinthorp. 

"  An  English  lady,"  he  was  told.  "  Oh  yes,  an 
elegant  woman,  and  noticeably  beautiful.  Rumour 
had  said  strange  things  about  her.  But,  then,  it  did 
about  everybody.  Her  reputation  was  doubtful,  but 
there  was  nothing  much,"  said  his  informant,  "  only 
she  certainly  was  a  hopeless  gambler.  They  said  she 
always  found  money  somewhere  and  somehow  to 
play.  These  gamblers  stick  at  nothing,  and  black- 
mail is  often  profitable  if  you  are  clever,"  he  added 
meaningly. 

The  Count  de  Rigos  could  have  struck  the  man 
as  he  stood  there,  smiling  sarcastically  and  blasting 
his  wife's  reputation  with  a  few  careless  words.  But 
he  realised  that  it  was  no  time  for  anger,  and  that 
above  all  things,  a  scandal  must  be  avoided.  This 
kept  his  passionate  anger  in  check,  as  outwardly  calm, 
he  listened  to  the  tale  of  his  wife's  doings,  punctuated 
with  knowing  looks  and  malicious  grins. 

"  Oh  yes,  she  was  well  known,"  said  one  of  the 
attendants,  whom  his  informant  had  summoned  to 
verify  the  truth  of  his  story.  "But  we  get  lots  of 
them.  They  are  penniless,  and  we  have  to  pay  their 
journey  home,  and  they  don't  come  back  until  they've 
managed  to  get  some  more  cash  somehow  or  other." 

The  Count  de  Rigos  was  astounded. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  the  authorities  once 
paid  Mrs.  Packinthorp's  journey  home,"  he  asked, 
hardly  believing  his  own  ears. 

That  this  woman,  who  to  him  had  posed  as  all 
that  was  sweet  and  good,  and  a  pronounced  hater  of 
gambling  in  particular,  when  he  met  her  in  London, 


282  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

had  only  a  month  or  so  before  been  sent  home  from 
Monte  Carlo  after  losing  all  she  had  won  at  the  tables 
seemed  impossible. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  remember  it  all  quite  well.  They 
paid  her  hotel  bill,  too.  Oh,  she  was  a  queer  sort, 
and  beautiful !  Well,  there  !  But  perhaps  you  knew 
the  lady,  sir?" 

The  Count  de  Rigos  shook  his  head.  He  was  too 
furious  to  speak,  and  luckily,  for  had  he  done  so  his 
feelings  might  have  escaped  him,  and  the  reply  would 
certainly  have  astonished  his  listeners.  His  mind 
was  a  seething  whirlpool  of  angry  thoughts. 

In  a  moment  his  quick  southern  temperament  had 
turned  his  disappointment  and  disillusion  to  absolute 
hate  of  this  woman,  who  had  mocked  and  deceived 
him  so  cleverly  and  effectively. 

As  he  walked  away  from  the  two  men  he  reviewed 
mentally  the  weeks  before  and  after  his  marriage. 
The  many  little  speeches  which  had  rested  enshrined 
in  his  heart  as  gems  of  goodness  and  purity  now 
stood  out,  one  by  one,  as  he  looked  back  on  them,  in 
all  their  false  and  meretricious  glitter.  How  could 
he  ever  have  thought  them  real?  That  was  what 
puzzled  him  now.  That  his  great  love  had  galvanised 
their  miserable  flashy  rays  into  pure  magnetic  beams 
did  not  occur  to  him,  and  now  he  only  saw  himself  a 
fool — as  she  must  have  seen  him  always. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

ON  through  the  night  rushed  that  northern  train, 
bearing  East  and  his  mother  and  Theodora  so  hastily 
away  from  Florence. 

About  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  they  came  over 
wide,  melancholy,  flat  marshlands  into  the  magnificent 
old  city  of  Verona,  with  its  superb  walls  and  arches 
and  vast  ruined  amphitheatre  lying  all  dark  and 
silent  in  the  waning  moonlight. 

"  The  city  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  said  Theodora. 
But  East  dispelled  her  sentimental  imaginings  by 
telling  her  of  those  great  horse  fairs  held  now  on  the 
very  site  of  the  lovely  and  hapless  Juliet's  tomb. 

"  I  shall  get  out  here  and  telegraph  to  the  Tyroler- 
hof  for  rooms,"  he  said. 

He  stepped  out  of  the  train  and  made  his  way 
along  the  station  to  the  telegraph  office,  where  he 
hastily  sent  off  a  wire  to  the  Hotel  Tyrol,  Innsbruck , 
asking  for  a  suite  of  rooms  to  be  reserved  for  three 
people  and  a  maid,  and  a  private  sitting-room,  where 
all  meals  could  be  served  separately. 

"That  will  save  her  the  necessity  of  going  down 
to  eat  in  the  public  dining  halls,"  he  said  to  himself. 

Nothing  seemed  to  him  too  much  to  do  for  this 
girl,  who  had  come  so  strangely  and  unexpectedly 
into  his  life,  and  it  gave  him  an  absolute  feeling  of 
joy  to  be  wiring  injunctions  for  fires  in  all  the  rooms 
and  a  carriage  with  foot-warmers  to  meet  them  at  the 
station,  although  the  hotel  was  scarcely  two  minutes' 
drive  therefrom,  as  he  well  knew. 

So  engrossed  was  he  with  the  details  of  his  long, 
283 


284  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

extravagant  telegram  that  he  saw  nothing  of  the  man 
in  a  big  sombrero  hat  and  long  black  cape,  worn  in 
the  manner  of  the  Italian — that  is  to  say,  with  the 
right  side  slung  away  over  the  left  shoulder  gracefully 
and — to  English  eyes — a  little  melodramatically. 

Quite  blind  was  he  to  the  fact  that  this  man 
approached  the  telegraph  office  the  moment  he  came 
out  and  went  straight  to  the  official  behind  the 
window. 

"  I  have  made  a  mistake,"  said  the  black-bearded 
man,  "in  the  telegram  I  have  just  sent.  I  put  the 
wrong  number.  There  it  lies — there  on  the  desk. 
One  moment,  permit  me." 

The  official  handed  it  to  him. 

"  Ah  !  no,  no,"  he  cried  angrily.  "  Not  this  !  This 
is  some  one  else's.  This  is  German.  I  do  not 
understand  it.  That  is  mine  there  beside  you." 

With  profuse  and  flowery  apologies  the  official 
handed  him  his  own  telegram. 

"  Scuse,  signore,"  he  said  apologetically.  "  I 
thought  it  was  this  one  you  indicated." 

"No,  no,"  said  Armand  Roche,  testily.  "You 
should  be  more  careful  another  time.  There  " — he 
glanced  hastily  over  his  own  telegram,  keeping  up 
the  feint  very  well  indeed  of  wishing  to  see  it 
again.  Then  he  handed  it  back  with  a  bow.  "  I  see 
it  is  all  right,"  he  said. 

The  words  in  his  own  telegram  directed  to  the 
editor  of  Le  your,  Paris,  were  the  following  rather 
curious  ones : — 

"  Have  brought  old  man  following  Lady  Allingham. 
She  fears,  suspects,  is  flying  from  me.  I  follow  to 
Innsbruck.  Wire  any  instructions  to  me  Poste 
Restante  there. 

"ARMAND  ROCHE." 

Such  was  his  own  wire. 

The  one  he  had  hastily  scanned  had  read — 

"  Reserve  rooms  for  three  and  maid,  with  private 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  285 

sitting-room,  first  floor.  Have  fires  lighted  every- 
where and  rooms  well  warmed.  Order  flowers.  Send 
carriage  to  station,  with  rugs  and  foot  warmers,  to 
meet  the  evening  train. 

"WILLIAM  EAST." 

"  Good,"  muttered  Armand  Roche,  to  himself. 
"  The  plot  thickens.  The  story  gets  exciting.  It 
runs  something  like  this,  I  fancy.  Our  beautiful 
Lady  Allingham  has  a  very,  -very  guilty  conscience, 
and  is  desperately  anxious  that  her  identity  and 
whereabouts  remain  concealed  more  than  ever." 

He  rubbed  his  hands  together.  Going  to  the 
buffet  he  tossed  off  a  long  drink  of  vermouth,  rum, 
and  seltzer,  and  ate  an  enormous  sandwich  stuffed 
with  cold  sausage. 

"  She  had  a  reason,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as 
the  rum  and  vermouth  mounted  to  his  brain.  "Fear  ! 
that's  it.  The  lovely  and  adorable  Lady  Allingham 
has  fallen  a  victim  to  an  overmastering  fear  of  being- 
found  out.  Then  what  has  she  done  ?  The  answer  is 
obvious.  It  was  she  who  stole  those  plans,  and  I  sus- 
pected it  from  the  first  moment  I  heard  of  Sir  George 
Allingham's  arrest.  I  may  be  only  a  journalist,"  he 
thought  excitedly,  "  but  I  know  an  honest  man  when 
I  see  one,  and  if  ever  there  was  a  man  who  did  not 
steal,  and  could  not  lie — except  to  save  his  wife — 
that  man  is  Sir  George  Allingham,  or  my  name  is  not 
Armand  Roche ! " 

The  night  was  cold,  though  the  dark  blue  skies 
were  strewn  luxuriously  with  glittering  stars,  and  the 
moonlight  fell  on  the  river  flowing  through  the 
ancient  city,  and  touched  the  magnificent  yellow  walls 
and  citadels  and  ruins  with  the  inimitable  softness 
and  tenderness  of  moonlight  upon  beautiful  architec- 
ture. It  was  almost  as  if  the  moon  knew  and  rever- 
enced and  gave  deep  worship  to  the  loveliness  and 
dignity  of  the  architectural  lines  and  curves. 

"We  have  half  an  hour's  wait  here,"  Theodora  said 


286  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

to  East.  "  Don't  you  think  I  might  as  well  alight,  and 
walk  up  and  down  the  station,  while  Mrs.  Ellerton 
is  sleeping  so  profoundly  under  her  rugs  !  " 

East  fell  in  with  her  every  wish.  It  made  him 
only  too  happy  to  know  that  there  was  anything  she 
cared  about,  so  that  he  might  try  to  let  her  have  it. 

"  I  will  walk  with  you,"  he  said.  "  We'll  pace  up 
and  down  beside  the  train." 

As  is  always  the  case  in  Italian  trains,  there  was  a 
long,  impossible  jump  to  make  from  the  carriage 
to  the  ground,  and  he  held  out  his  arms  to  Theodora 
when  he  saw  her  recoil. 

"  Let  me  lift  you  down,"  he  said  simply  ;  and, 
taking  her  in  his  arms,  he  raised  her  as  easily  as 
though  she  had  been  a  child,  and  then  put  her  safely 
on  the  ground. 

In  that  moment,  held  in  those  strong  arms,  a 
strange  host  of  recollections  had  come  rushing  over 
Theodora. 

For  one  thing,  it  seemed  so  extraordinary  that 
a  mere  man  could  hold  her — a  bundle  of  ideals, 
dreams,  physical  structure,  and  chiffons  —  in  two 
mortal  arms ;  and  she  remembered  that  the  very 
same  amaze  had  flashed  upon  her  when  George  had, 
for  the  first  time,  lifted  her  laughingly  from  the 
ground  to  show  her  how  strong  he  was.  But  she 
laughed.  She  said  softly  to  East,  "  I  hope  I  wasn't 
frightfully  heavy,"  and  laughed  again  at  his  vehement 
denial. 

"  Don't  protest  too  much,"  she  said  lightly. 

"  I  couldn't,"  said  East. 

"  That  sounds  dubious,"  said  Theodora.  "  It  might 
mean  —well,  it  might  mean  anything." 

"  I  confess  it  means  something,"  replied  East. 

They  were  pacing  up  and  down  the  platform  now. 
A  strange  light-heartedness  had  taken  possession  of 
each  of  them,  which  was  partly  the  effect  of  the  long 
rush  through  a  strange  country  in  such  a  pure  spirit 
of  adventure,  and  partly  the  effect  of  each  other's 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  287 

personality.  But  poor,  poor  East !  How  far  he  was 
from  guessing  the  truth  ! 

When  he  saw  the  curving  smiles  about  those 
scarlet  lips,  and  the  flashing  brightness  of  the  violet 
eyes,  he  was  happy  because  he  saw  and  knew  that 
she  was  happy  when  with  him.  Never  for  one 
moment  did  he  dream  that  his  presence  filled  her 
continually  with  a  half  bitter,  half  sweet,  and  wholly 
mocking  emotion,  because  it  reminded  her  of  her 
husband.  Never  for  a  moment  could  he  guess  that 
she  looked  up  into  his  grey  eyes  and  recollected  the 
steady  glance  of  one  who  was  far  away.  Never  for  a 
moment  did  he  suspect  when  he  held  her  in  his  arms 
as  he  lifted  her  out  of  the  train,  and  her  face  lay 
for  one,  brief,  breathless  moment  against  his  heart, 
that  she  was  not  there  in  truth.  She  was  far,  far 
away.  For  a  magic  moment  she  was  again  in  George's 
arms,  and  it  was  George's  rough  grey  coat  that  was 
under  her  cheek,  and  it  was  George's  strength  that 
surrounded  her  in  that  strange,  dreamlike  moment  on 
the  starlit  Verona  platform,  when  East  was  lifting  her 
out  of  the  train. 

East  gave  no  sign  of  his  feelings.  This  was 
neither  time  nor  place  for  that. 

"Later  on,"  he  said  to  himself,  "later  on,  who 
knows  ?  But  now  I'm  just  her  knight  and  her  pal,  as 
I  said  I  would  be — that's  all,  and  she  is  my  sister — 
for  the  nonce." 

Up  and  down  they  walked.  The  long,  dimly- 
lighted  train  lay  stretched  beside  them,  and  they 
could  see  into  the  carriages  as  they  strolled  up  and 
down. 

They  saw  Mrs.  Ellerton  comfortably  ensconced 
among  cushions  and  rugs,  with  the  light  cunningly 
shaded  away  from  her  face,  lost  in  deep  slumber. 
They  saw  a  strange  mixture  of  people  in  the  various 
carriages.  Black-haired,  hatless  contadim,  or  peasants, 
going  from  Verona  into  the  country  ;  smart,  spick- 
and-span  Austrian  officers  on  their  way  over  the 


288  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

frontier ;  American  and  English  tourists  in  very 
small  numbers,  going  north  for  the  toboganning  and 
winter  sports.  But  they  did  not  see  the  old  white- 
haired  man  with  pale  blue  eyes  who  was  lying 
sleepless  on  the  yellow  wood  of  a  third-class  carriage 
close  to  the  engine. 

For  that  was  where  Armand  Roche  and  old  Ivan 
had  secreted  themselves  on  their  midnight  journey. 

"  Oh,  I  love  Italy  !  "  cried  Theodora,  passionately, 
standing  still  suddenly  in  their  perambulations,  and 
casting  one  wide  fleeting  glance  over  the  silent, 
melancholy  plains  out  of  which  the  great  age-old  city 
of  Verona  rose  with  such  an  inimitable  grace  and 
dignity. 

"  I  love  it,  too,"  echoed  East. 

But  he  was  blind  to  those  inky-black  cypresses, 
pointing  their  mysterious  fingers  towards  the  moon. 
He  was  insensate  to  the  marvellous  charm  of  the 
antique  city,  with  its  almost  Eastern  gorgeousness  of 
architecture.  He  was  unconscious  that  a  network  of 
glittering  silver  stars  was  turning  the  dark  blue  sky 
into  fairyland.  He  only  knew  that  Margaret  Wood 
was  walking  up  and  down  the  platform  beside  him. 

They  took  their  seats  in  the  train  again  at  last. 
And  further  along  a  man  with  a  black  beard  jumped 
in  beside  his  white-haired  companion,  and  rubbed  his 
hands  softly  and  satisfiedly,  thinking  to  himself  that 
he  was  indeed  a  made  man,  and  that  Le  Jour  was  far 
too  clever  to  ignore  the  fact. 

The  capo  del  stazione  (stationmaster)  in  his  tall 
scarlet  hat  ran  up  and  down  the  platform  excitedly. 
A  porter  lifted  a  vast  horn  to  his  lips  and  blew  on  it 
the  weird  unearthly  blast  that  heralds  the  departure 
of  Italian  trains,  and  they  were  off!  Trent,  Ala, 
were  passed,  and  the  Customs  officers  were  duly 
satisfied,  and  they  found  themselves  well  over  the 
borders  of  Italy  and  Austria  as  the  sun  rose  over  the 
new  day.  Everything  had  changed  colour  instantly, 
with  almost  incredible  suddenness.  The  very  train 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  289 

itself  was  different.  It  was  several  degrees  cleaner 
and  neater.  The  guards  on  it  were  spruce  little 
Germans,  with  fair  moustaches  and  guttural  voices. 
An  air  of  solemnity  and  gravity  and  decorum  had 
taken  the  place  of  the  delightful,  lazy,  languid  happi- 
ness and  allegria  of  the  Italian  part  of  the  journey. 
Vast  snow-covered  mountains  and  valleys,  white 
with  rose  lights  upon  them,  as  the  sun  rose  high, 
usurped  the  tender  blues  and  purples  of  the  dreaming 
Italian  landscapes  ;  and  onwards  they  rushed,  further 
and  further  away  from  Florence,  and,  as  Theodora 
fondly  believed,  from  the  clever,  pertinent  journalist, 
Armand  Roche,  whose  eyes  went  through  her  so 
remorselessly. 

It  was  evening  as  they  flew  down  over  the 
Brenner,  where  the  fir  trees  were  glistening  under 
their  pure  white  snow  covers,  and  the  ground  lay 
pale  and  soft  in  the  dark.  And  night  had  well  fallen 
when  they  swept  down  into  the  vast  white  valley  of 
the  River  Inn. 

East's  telegram  had  had  its  due  effect,  and  a 
luxurious  carriage  was  there  awaiting  them.  Tired, 
but  cheerful,  they  drove  through  the  sparkling  streets 
of  Innsbruck,  with  its  great  overhanging  mountains 
and  its  crowds  of  merry  German  and  Austrian  uni- 
versity students  pacing  up  and  down  beside  the 
brightly-lighted  shops. 

In  a  few  moments  they  had  reached  their  destina- 
tion— the  tall  white  building  of  the  Hotel  Tyrol, 
standing  in  the  centre  of  the  town — and  were  being 
welcomed  by  the  courteous  proprietor,  who  assured 
them  that  he  had  done  his  best  to  meet  all  their 
wishes,  and  hoped  they  would  be  comfortable  during 
their  stay.  Mrs.  Ellerton  and  her  maid  had  already 
entered  the  lift.  Theodora  was  just  about  to  follow, 
when  an  interruption  occurred. 

A  man  stepped  forward  quickly,  with  a  low  bow 
and  a  way  of  holding  his  hat  on  one  side  in  his  right 
hand  which  could  only  be  acquired  in  Paris. 

U 


290  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

"  Pardon,  madame,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  I 
crave  just  one  word  with  you." 

The  skies  seemed  to  rock  above  Theodora,  and 
the  varnished  floors  to  go  up  and  down  under  her 
feet. 

There  before  her  stood  Armand  Roche — the  man 
she  had  taken  so  long  a  journey  to  get  away  from ! 

"What  do  you  want?" 

East  was  talking  to  the  proprietor ;  for  the  moment 
he  had  noticed  nothing. 

"I  want  a  private  conversation  with  you,"  said 
Armand  Roche,  immediately. 

"  It  is  impossible." 

"  It  is  wise." 

"  I  repeat,  it  is  impossible,"  said  Theodora. 

She  had  forgotten  that  she  was  Miss  Margaret 
Wood — Mrs.  Ellerton's  companion.  Again  she  was 
Lady  Allingham — the  idol  of  Paris  society.  Drawing 
herself  up  to  her  full  height,  she  flashed  upon  him  a 
look  of  indescribable  haughtiness  and  scorn,  which 
gave  her  beauty  so  emphatic  a  note  that  the  Parisian's 
heart  fairly  bounded  within  him  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"  Mon  Dieii,  but  she  is  a  beauty  ! "  he  muttered. 

But  he  was  Armand  Roche,  of  Le  Jonr,  and  must 
not  be  overcome  by  a  woman's  looks.  His  work  was 
cut  out.  Let  him  see  to  it  that  he  did  it. 

"  Lady  Allingham,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  you 
are  making  a  great  mistake  to  treat  me  like  this. 
Ever  since  Sir  George  Allingham  has  lain  in  prison 
there  in  Paris " 

"What?" 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  loud  cry  that  startled 
every  one  in  the  vestibule  and  brought  East  in  terror 
to  her  side. 

"  What  is  it  you  are  saying  ? "  she  cried,  a  deathly 
whiteness  blanching  her  cheeks  and  lips  with  horror. 
She  trembled.  But  she  mastered  that  immediately. 

"  But  it  is  impossible — impossible,"  said  Armand, 
aghast  at  the  sudden,  unmistakable  evidences  of 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  291 

ignorance  and  amazement  that  had  overwhelmed  her 
at  his  words  about  Sir  George  being  in  prison. 
"  Surely  you  were  acquainted  with  the  facts  before 
this  ? "' 

"  Oh,  what  are  you  saying  to  me,  monsieur  ?  "  she 
cried,  rushing  towards  him  and  clasping  her  two  white 
hands  wildly  around  his  arm,  utterly  oblivious  of  all 
those  standing  around  her.  "  Sir  George  Allingham 
in  prison  ?  " 

"  He  was  arrested  on  Christmas  Day  for  the  theft 
of  the  plans  of  M.  Fleur's  airship,  which  were  sup- 
posed to  have  been  concealed  in  your  ladyship's 
dressing-bag.  He  declared  his  guilt  when  the  police 
went  to  the  house  to  search "  —  he  refrained  from 
saying  " for  you"  " Some  fragments  of  Monsieur 
Fleur's  letters  from  a  lady  were  found.  Monsieur 
Fleur  alleged  them  to  have  been  stolen  also  from 
his  laboratory.  But  there  was  no  sign  of  your 
dressing-bag  or  of  the  plans.  And  you  were  gone ! " 

"  My  dressing-bag  !  " 

Pitifully,  half-madly  indeed,  her  violet  eyes  were 
imploring  his  to  make  this  fearful  mystery  clear  to 
her. 

"  Your  dressing-bag,"  he  continued  gently,  moved 
uncontrollably  by  the  sight  of  her  emotion.  "  It  had 
disappeared." 

"  Disappeared  !  " 

She  looked  round  wildly,  and  seeing  East  beside 
her,  held  her  hand  out  to  him  as  if  to  bring  him  close 
to  her  for  support.  With  one  stride  he  was  at  her 
side.  His  steady  eyes  looked  down  at  hers.  "  Cour- 
age," he  whispered.  "  I'm  here  ;  I  will  stand  by  you." 

"  I  never  opened  it.  It  was  stolen  from  me  in 
the  train,"  she  whispered  hoarsely.  Then  her  voice 
fell,  and  she  swayed  and  dropped  into  East's  ready 
arms. 

"I  must  go  at  once  to  George,"  she  murmured. 
"  Oh,  take  me  to  Paris,  William,"  she  said,  swooning 
away  in  a  dead  faint  against  his  breast. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

CROUCHING  by  her  fire  in  deepest  dejection  was  a 
woman  who  was  scarcely  to  be  recognised  as  the 
Countess  de  Rigos.  What  had  happened  to  her? 
Whither  had  fled  all  her  old-time  buoyancy  and 
elegance,  her  indomitable  smartness  and  chic,  and 
that  courage  of  hers  never  to  submit  or  yield  that  had 
always  cried  out  loudly  in  a  difficult  situation — to 
quote  the  words  of  the  fallen  angel — "to  be  weak 
is  miserable,  doing  or  suffering "  ?  Where  now  was 
all  her  courage  ?  And  her  inexhaustible  spirit,  her 
unconquerable  resolve  to  succeed  and  surmount  all 
obstacles,  into  what  far-off  region  had  they  taken 
wing  —  these  former  marked  characteristics  of  the 
beautiful  Countess  de  Rigos  ? 

It  was  mid-afternoon,  and  a  heavy  fog  had  de- 
scended upon  Paris,  swathing  the  vast  city  in 
suffocating  yellow  folds.  Breathless  and  stagnant 
was  the  air.  That  great,  terrible  calm,  weighted  and 
significant,  that  often  precedes  the  coming  of  some 
memorable  and  deadly  storm  or  earthquake,  brooded 
over  the  gay  metropolis,  hushing  its  laughter,  dulling 
the  gaiety  of  its  lights,  deadening  the  brightness  even 
of  its  cafes.  It  was  as  though  a  great  wave  had 
flowed  over  Paris  and  wiped  out  for  a  moment 
laughter,  light,  and  song,  and  that  apparent  inex- 
tinguishable gaiety  that  marks  this  city  especially  for 
its  own,  and  makes  it  different  from  any  other,  except 
perhaps  lovely,  careless,  allegro  Venice,  and,  in  a 
lesser  degree,  little,  laughing  Brussels. 

"  Oh,  Heaven !  How  much  longer  can  I  endure 
292 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  293 

this ! "  She  threw  herself  back  in  an  attitude  of 
despairing  abandon  on  the  great  white  settee  covered 
with  snowy  bearskins  and  enormous  cushions  of  pale 
purple  silk. 

It  was  three  days  and  three  nights  since  Ignace 
had  left  her. 

For  three  whole  days  and  three  whole  nights  she 
had  neither  slept  nor  eaten,  and  to-day,  in  conse- 
quence she  was  scarcely  to  be  recognised  as  the  lovely 
woman  who  had  won  the  heart  of  the  Mexican 
aristocrat.  Wasted  to  a  shadow  was  she,  haggard 
and  grey. 

It  was  as  though  a  fever  was  consuming  her. 
Her  pulse  never  beat  at  a  normal  rate  now.  Her 
blood  ran  hot.  An  unnatural  temperature  was  hers. 
The  sage  who  said  that  love  is  a  fever  from  which 
one  either  recovers  or  dies,  might  well  have  had  in 
view  the  fate  of  the  Countess  de  Rigos.  It  seemed 
as  though  she  were  destined  to  die  of  the  fever.  Try 
as  she  would  to  drown  her  thoughts,  they  inevitably 
returned  to  the  one  subject,  Ignace.  His  face  swam 
before  her.  How  was  it  she  had  never  realised  before 
the  beauty  of  those  pale,  chiselled  features,  the  carven, 
beautiful  mouth,  the  deep,  fathomless  eyes,  with  all 
their  Spanish  lustre,  depth,  and  softness,  the  fine 
contour  of  the  face,  the  perfectly  moulded  forehead, 
upon  which  the  black,  crisp  hair  grew  in  so  fasci- 
natingly boyish  a  manner,  the  little  curl  running 
through  it,  such  as  every  woman  with  a  heart  is  in- 
stantly susceptible  to !  And  he,  this  handsome,  charm- 
ing young  aristocrat,  was  her  own  husband,  and  only  a 
few  short  days  ago  had  worshipped  her  madly.  And 
now?  Now  it  seemed  as  if  the  blood  in  his  veins 
had  frozen,  his  pulse  had  stopped  beating  almost. 
His  eyes  had  no  glance  for  her  but  a  stony,  remorse- 
less stare,  which  seemed  to  expose  all  the  petty 
vanities,  follies,  and  falseness  of  her  heart.  Not  a 
word  of  love  fell  from  his  lips.  Nothing  but  cold,  set 
phrases  issued  from  the  mouth  that  so  short  a  time 


294  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

ago  had  woven  sweet  words  of  tenderness  and  adora- 
tion for  her  and  her  alone.  The  change  was  terrible. 
She  could  scarcely  realise  it.  And  yet  there  was  the 
fact  staring  her  in  the  face.  He  had  left  her. 

"  How  could  you,  how  could  you ! "  she  moaned. 

She  pressed  her  face  down  into  the  violet  pillows, 
and  the  tears  burnt  their  fiery  way  into  the  soft  silk, 
staining  it  in  great  discoloured  patches. 

"  I  shall  kill  myself  if  he  does  not  return,"  she 
moaned. 

For  a  long,  long  time  she  lay  there,  prone  in  her 
misery,  and  then  her  maid  entered  with  some  tea, 
and  she  sat  up,  murmuring  excuses  about  her  violent 
headache. 

Carelessly  her  white  fingers  squeezed  a  lemon 
into  the  fragrant  Russian  beverage,  and  she  drank 
it  off  feverishly.  "  That  is  good,"  she  murmured, 
pouring  herself  out  another  cup  and  reaching  for  her 
cigarettes.  Presently  the  tea  began  to  clear  her  brain 
a  little,  while  the  cigarettes  soothed  her.  Her  thoughts 
grew  less  tortured  and  agonised.  She  began  to  think 
clearly.  And  suddenly  hope  came  flashing  back, 
renewed  magically  by  this  slight  physical  renewal  of 
her  bodily  strength  caused  by  the  tea  and  her 
cigarettes. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  the  maid  who 
had  lately  brought  the  tea  came  in  and  announced 
a  visitor  who  wanted  urgently  to  see  her.  She  was 
a  young  English  lady,  Miss  Margaret  Wood. 

"  She  seems  in  trouble,  and  begs  that  you  will  talk 
to  her,  if  only  for  one  moment,"  said  the  maid. 

"  Have  I  not  told  you  I  can  see  no  one  ? "  replied 
the  Countess  de  Rigos,  sharply.  "  I  have  already 
given  you  the  strictest  injunctions  that  no  one  was  to 
be  admitted  to  my  presence.  In  fact,  I  was  not  at 
home  if  anyone  called." 

"  I  know,  my  lady !  " 

She  was  not  going  to  explain  that  a  ten-pound 
note  had  been  pressed  into  her  hand  by  the  genth 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  295 

man  who  accompanied  Miss  Margaret  Wood,  and  was 
waiting  in  the  firelit  hall  below. 

"  If  the  archangel  Gabriel  called  I  should  not 
receive  him,"  cried  the  Countess,  with  a  return  of  her 
old  manner,  and  an  attempt  at  a  laugh. 

But,  alas !  It  died  away  on  her  lips,  that  laugh. 
It  was  stifled  to  death  at  the  sight  of  the  tall,  white, 
hollow-eyed  woman  who  came  gliding  in  through  the 
open  door. 

."Lady  Allingham!" 

"Yes,  it  is  I,"  replied  the  other.  "Since  you  do 
not  know  me  as  Miss  Margaret  Wood,  I  have  come 
myself  in  my  own  name."  She  turned  to  the  maid. 
"  Leave  us,"  she  said,  in  her  old  peremptory  manner  ; 
"  I  wish  to  speak  to  the  Countess  de  Rigos  alone." 

The  maid  went  out,  and  the  door  closed  behind 
her,  and  these  two  women,  Lady  Allingham  and  the 
Countess  de  Rigos,  were  left  face  to  face,  alone. 

For  a  moment  or  two  they  stared  at  each  other  in 
silence,  paralysed  by  the  appalling  change  each  saw 
in  the  other's  face.  AH  the  lovely,  haunting  youthful- 
ness  of  Theodora's  eyes  and  lips  and  radiant  hair 
seemed  to  have  passed  away  from  her.  She  was 
white  as  death.  Her  cheeks  had  fallen  in.  Her  eyes 
were  glittering  with  fever,  her  lips  were  white  and 
dry.  It  was  evident  at  one  glance  she  was  in  an 
unnatural  condition  of  excitement  and  illness. 

And  the  Countess  de  Rigos  was  equally  changed. 
She  had  gone  from  a  young  woman  to  an  old  woman 
in  a  few  days. 

"Why  have  you  come?  What  do  you  want?" 
she  gasped. 

"  I  have  come  to  get  the  truth,"  said  Theodora. 

"What  truth?" 

She  attempted  to  brazen  it  out,  as  she  had  brazened 
everything  else  out  in  her  false  and  apparently  success- 
ful career.  She  laughed. 

We  do  not  know  how  we  discover  things  about 
each  other.  Always  there  is  mysterious  thought  at 


296  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

work  about  us,  and  sometimes  we  read  people's  most 
carefully  guarded  secrets — which  they  suppose  they 
so  cleverly  and  successfully  conceal — as  clearly  and 
distinctly  as  though  they  had  been  put  in  large  black 
handwriting  or  printing  upon  their  foreheads.  Abso- 
lutely sure  are  we  that  we  are  right.  Then  why  are 
we  so  sure  ?  Simply  because  we  realise,  unconsciously 
it  may  be,  that  we  are  in  the  grip  of  some  force  far 
greater  than  reason — far  more  subtle  and  complicated 
and  mysterious  than  anything  human  intelligence  can 
account  for.  Suddenly,  and  without,  as  it  were,  the 
slightest  relevancy,  Theodora's  brain  had  built  up 
before  her  a  picture  of  her  boudoir,  and  that  strange, 
mysterious  girl  with  the  box,  who  had  brought  back 
her  letters  to  Marcel  on  Christmas  Eve.  The  girl 
had  come  as  if  she  were  a  dressmaker's  assistant, 
bearing  a  large  cardboard  box,  ostensibly  containing 
blouses  ;  then  she  had  suddenly  opened  the  box  and 
presented  Theodora  with  a  packet  of  letters,  which 
she  said  she  had  been  asked  to  deliver  by  Monsieur 
Fleur,  and  Theodora  had  torn  up  the  letters  and 
thrown  them  into  the  fire,  all  in  a  breath,  and  when 
she  turned  to  the  girl  she  had  gone.  The  whole 
affair  had  been  very  strange.  And  now,  without 
knowing  how,  Theodora  seemed  to  be  suddenly 
carried  forward  and  placed  upon  a  certain  track 
which  she  had  to  follow. 

"  Won't  you  sit  down  ?  "  said  the  Countess. 

"  I  will  not  sit  down  in  your  house." 

"  As  you  will,  but  I — I'm  tired  ;  I  have  no  fancy 
for  standing.  Pardon  me  if  I  am  remiss  ; "  and  she 
threw  herself  back  with  an  affectation  of  languid 
carelessness  in  the  snowy  nest. 

"  Let  us  come  to  the  point  at  once,"  said  Theodora. 
"My  husband,  Sir  George  Allingham,  is  in  prison,  as 
you  know,  accused  of  stealing  the  plans  of  Monsieur 
Fleur's  airships,  which  anonymous  letters  declared 
would  be  found  in  my  dressing-bag.  Now,  what  I 
want  to  know  is  this.  How  did  those  plans  get  into 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  297 

my  dressing-bag,  if  they  were  there  ?  Who  put  them 
there  ?  What  enemy — sufficiently  malevolent  and 
wicked — had  access  to  my  rooms  on  Christmas 
Eve  ? " 

"  I  really  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about," 
said  the  Countess  de  Rigos,  airily. 

"  Ah  yes,  you  do,"  said  Theodora,  standing  over 
her,  and  suddenly  gripping  her  by  the  wrists.  "  Woman, 
listen  to  me.  Your  hour  has  come.  It  is  useless 
to  deny  longer.  You're  face  to  face  now  with  a 
desperate  wife.  You're  looking  into  the  eyes  of  one 
who  fears  nothing,  for  she  is  armed  with  a  weapon 
of  which  you — poor,  miserable,  worm-like  creature 
that  you  are — are  wholly  ignorant — the  unconquerable 
weapon  of  love  !  " 

The  Countess  de  Rigos  lifted  her  head,  and  broke 
into  uncontrollable  hysterical  tears  and  laughter. 

"  After  that,"  she  said,  "  I  think  I  shall  tell  you 
the  truth.  Then  you  shall  learn  that  some  one  besides 
yourself,  Lady  Allingham,  knows  the  meaning  of  what 
love  is  ! " 

Never  before  had  she  revealed  herself  in  all  her 
true  criminality  of  character  as  at  that  moment.  Reck- 
less— utterly  reckless — was  she.  She  was  prepared  to 
give  herself  away  haphazard.  And  this,  so  say  the 
great  psychologists  and  criminologists,  is  the  distinctive 
and  characteristic  feature  of  the  true  criminal.  At  a 
given  moment  he  or  she  is  bound  to  lose  his  or  her 
perspective.  He  becomes  blind  and  indifferent  to 
results.  He  is  overwhelmed  with  an  enormous 
incapacity  to  realise  consequences. 

The  Countess  de  Rigos  was  lost  in  those  quick- 
sands of  crime.  She  was  blind  to  consequences.  A 
cruel,  inexorable  power  was  driving  her  on  to  confess 
lavishly  anything  and  everything,  no  matter  how 
much  it  might  be  to  her  detriment. 

"  What  is  it  you  want  to  know  ? "  she  queried 
recklessly. 

"  Oh  !  that  you  can  ask  me  that ! "  cried  Theodora, 


298  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

distractedly.  "  I  want  to  know " — she  put  a  tre- 
mendous restraint  upon  herself,  and  summoned  all 
her  reason  to  her  command — "  I  want  to  know  if  you 
know  aught  of  how  the  plans  got  into  my  dressing- 
bag  ?" 

"  I !  Why  of  course  I  do,  my  dear.  I  put  them 
there,"  replied  the  Countess. 

Suddenly  she  was  overcome  with  an  immense 
sense  of  elation  and  self-glory  at  the  way  in  which 
her  plans  had  succeeded. 

"  You  little  fool ! "  she  laughed  low  and  fiercely. 
"  Don't  you  know  who  it  was  that  took  you  in  so 
foolishly  on  Christmas  Eve?  Haven't  you  guessed 
who  the  little  dressmaker  was,  with  the  box  ?  Why, 
you  fool !  you  fool ! "  she  burst  out  in  delirious  self- 
elation,  "  it  was  I,  I  myself,  yes,  I,  the  Countess  de 
Rigos,  who  took  you  in  so  splendidly  and  completely. 
I  was  the  one  who  brought  you  back  those  letters  to 
Marcel  Fleur — and  very  silly  letters  they  were,  too, 
my  dear ! " 

She  broke  into  wild  laughter,  as  the  scene  repeated 
itself  before  her  eyes  in  vivid  cinematograph  fashion. 
"  My  dear  woman — dear  idiot,  I  may  say  !  While  you 
were  throwing  the  letters  into  the  fire,  I  was  putting 
the  plans  into  your  dressing-bag.  That's  the  truth." 
Her  voice  rose.  "  I  knew  what  I  was  about,  and  I 
was  determined  to  blast  you  and  your  immaculate 
and  ridiculous  husband.  Did  you  suppose  for  one 
moment  that  I  was  going  to  let  pigmies  like  you  and 
Sir  George  Allingham  treat  me  like  dirt,  and  cut 
away  all  my  social  position,  as  you  tried  to  do  at  the 
fete  of  the  Duchess  that  afternoon,  when  you  cut  me 
dead  before  my  husband  and  other  members  of  Pari- 
sian society?  Did  you  take  me  for  a  stick,  dried 
and  lifeless,  that  you  thought  I  would  not  strike 
back  when  you  attacked  me  in  that  horrid,  superior 
way  of  yours  ?  Didn't  you  know  that  I  was  a  danger- 
ous case,  a  woman  who  would  stick  at  nothing  to  get 
my  revenge  ?  If  you  didn't,  my  dear,  you  are  a 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  299 

greater  fool  than  I  thought !    And  that's  all  I've  got 
to  say  about  the  matter." 

She  threw  herself  back  on  the  white  bearskin,  and 
let  her  black  head  sink  into  the  soft  nest  of  the 
violet  cushion,  while  a  low,  unpleasant  laugh  burst 
from  her  lips  at  the  sight  of  Lady  Allingham's  white 
staring  face. 

"  You  are  a  fool — an  utter  fool ! "  she  said.  "  I 
really  think  it's  time  you  knew  the  truth  about  your- 
self." 

Not  a  word  issued  from  the  lips  of  her  listener. 

It  seemed  as  if  Theodora  had  been  struck  dumb 
in  the  face  of  the  information  she  had  just  received. 
But  at  last,  collecting  herself  by  an  immense  effort, 
she  rose  to  her  feet  and  stood  looking  down  upon 
the  beautiful,  black-haired  Countess  de  Rigos,  with 
her  background  of  pale  mauve  and  deepest  Parma 
violet  cushions. 

"  I  never  dreamed  that  a  woman  like  you  could 
draw  breath ! "  she  said.  "  And  yet,  if  you  have 
confessed  the  naked  truth,  you  have  done  a  wonderful 
thing ! " 

At  her  words  the  Countess  seemed  to  come  from 
some  absorbing  trance,  and  returned  to  her  old  cold, 
imperturbable  self. 

The  mood  for  self-abasement  had  completely 
passed,  as  it  always  does  with  your  true  criminal. 
Bravado  had  returned.  Her  nerves  had  tightened. 
A  sudden  overwhelming  vision  of  her  folly  in  confessing 
was  flashing  across  her  brain. 

"  What  are  you  saying  ? "  she  cried  wildly.  "  I — 
I  confessed  !  You  lie !  What  have  I  got  to  confess 
to  you  ? " 

"  The  truth)  the  truth  !  "  said  another  voice. 


CHAPTER  XL 

EAST  had  entered  noiselessly,  drawn  by  some  irre- 
sistible intuition  of  coming  danger  to  Lady  Allingham, 
and  his  words  and  action  startled  the  Countess  de 
Rigos  into  terrified  silence.  So  there  had  been  a 
witness  to  her  appallingly  reckless  speeches  !  The 
incredible  things  she  had  been  saying  about  herself 
had  been  overheard.  The  very  sight  of  this  unknown 
man,  so  vibrant  with  quiet  strength  and  honesty, 
brought  her  fully  to  her  senses. 

"  I  must  have  been  mad  !  "  she  muttered,  pressing 
her  white,  jewelled  hands  in  bewilderment  to  her  brow. 

"  No  !  No !  You  were  never  saner ! "  cried 
Theodora,  in  a  voice  of  elation. 

She  swept  across  the  room  in  her  long  travelling- 
cloak.  All  the  weakness  that  she  had  been  battling 
against  so  courageously  in  the  long  journey  from  the 
Austrian  Tyrol  to  Paris  was  forgotten  ;  a  fever  burnt 
in  her  veins  and  supported  her  with  an  unnatural 
strength.  She  seized  the  white  wrists  of  the  Countess 
de  Rigos  and  stood  towering  over  the  other  woman 
with  blazing  eyes. 

"Woman,  you  were  never  saner,"  she  declared 
in  exultant  tones.  "You  told  the  truth  for  once. 
And,  thank  Heaven,  your  words  were  heard  by  some 
one  other  than  myself.  Now,  speak!  Go  on  with 
your  story."  She  shook  the  white  wrists.  "Tell 
me  all  you  know,"  she  commanded  fiercely.  "And 
quickly,  too !  Time  is  short.  An  honest  gentleman 
has  lain  in  prison  long  enough.  He  shall  remain 
there  no  longer." 

300 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  301 

Down  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room  the  curtains 
of  rose  velvet  hanging  over  a  door  stirred  slightly  and 
a  dark  face  looked  forth  for  a  moment.  Then  it  quietly 
drew  back  into  concealment  Theodora  and  East, 
whose  backs  were  turned,  saw  nothing.  But  the 
Countess  de  Rigos's  faculties  were  now  all  on  edge, 
and  her  eyes  had  fallen  upon  that  moving  curtain  ;  she 
saw  in  a  flash  the  dark  face  full  of  hate  looking  across 
the  room  at  her,  though  it  was  unaware  that  she 
observed  its  presence. 

"  Ignace ! " 

But  she  stifled  the  word  on  her  lips. 

All  of  a  sudden  came  floating  over  her  a  great 
resolution. 

She  was  penned  in  between  three  people  who  all 
despised  her. 

But  what  odds  ?  What  did  their  presence  matter  ? 
What  did  it  signify  to  her  that  they  were  going  to 
do  their  best  to  wrest  from  her  a  full  confession  of 
her  evil  deeds  ?  What  was  all  that  compared  to  the 
thing  she  was  going  to  do  herself  ? 

With  a  miraculous  effort  of  will  she  brought  an 
expression  of  heartrending  grief  over  her  countenance 
and  began  softly  to  weep,  the  great,  glittering  tears 
falling  without  being  wiped  away,  for  her  hands  were 
still  locked  in  Theodora's  fevered  clutch. 

"  My  heart  is  broken  when  I  think  of  all  the 
mischief  I  have  done,"  she  sobbed.  "  But  I  will 
confess,  I  will  confess ! " 

At  the  back  of  her  brain  she  was  thinking  of 
Ignace,  and  wondering  what  had  occasioned  his  un- 
expected return.  Why  had  he  come  back  ?  Not  for 
love  of  her.  That  one  fleeting  glimpse  of  his  face 
had  shown  her  that  it  was  colder  and  more  bitter  in 
its  expression  than  before,  if  that  were  possible.  No, 
it  was  not  for  her  that  he  had  returned,  and  she  con- 
jectured that  it  must  be  some  document  of  importance 
— his  will,  perhaps — that  he  had  forgotten  in  his 
haste,  and  her  conjecture  was  right.  He  had  come 


302  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

back  for  papers  which  he  had  need  of,  and  feared 
might  fall  into  the  clutches  of  his  unscrupulous  wife. 

Hidden  behind  the  curtain,  his  handsome  lips 
were  touched  with  a  mocking  smile  as  he  saw  the 
great  tears.  Hate  raged  within  him.  Yet,  even  now, 
something  softer  stirred  dimly  in  his  heart  at  the  sight 
of  her  distress — real  or  assumed. 

Her  words  came  stealing  across  the  room  to  him, 
uttered  in  low,  vibrant  tones  that  grew  gradually 
louder  and  stronger  as  her  emotion  appeared  to 
master  her. 

"  Oh !  what  have  I  done  to  bring  such  punishment 
upon  myself  ? " 

She  was  crying  bitterly,  standing  there  in  misery 
and  self-abasement. 

"  I  suffer  now  because  I  see  myself  in  a  true  light. 
Yes,  I  will  tear  the  mask  from  my  face !  No  longer 
shall  you  believe  me  to  be  what  every  one  thinks  me. 
I  can  no  longer  allow  you  to  look  upon  me  as  such. 
I  must  clear  the  innocent  of  the  dreadful  charge  made 
against  him."  Her  voice  rose.  "  Oh  !  the  terror  of 
it !  That  he  should  suffer,  that  innocent  gentleman, 
Sir  George  Allingham.  He  did  not  steal  the  plans. 
Who  believes  that  he  did  ?  No  one  who  knows  him. 
And  the  world  says  he  branded  himself  with  igno- 
miny to  save  his  wife.  But  she — she  did  not  steal 
them  either — yet  they  were  stolen,  and  why  ?  By 
whom  ? "  She  threw  her  head  back  and  burst  into 
bitter  hysterical  sobs.  "  Oh  !  let  me  confess  !  Let 
me  confess  the  whole  truth  !  "  she  said.  "  I — I  am  to 
blame  ! "  Her  words  choked  her.  "  I  am  the  guilty 
one ! " 

De  Rigos  heard  these  words  with  mixed  sensa- 
tions ;  every  emotion  seemed  to  be  pressing  down 
upon  him — horror — anguish — contempt — admiration 
—pity — hatred — all  coursed  through  his  veins  as  the 
speech  of  the  woman  came  floating  towards  him. 

"  Ah !  let  the  innocent  go  free,  and  punish  me," 
she  cried.  "  It  was  I  who  disguised  myself  as  a 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  303 

dressmaker,  brought  the  plans  to  your  bedroom  and 
placed  them  in  your  dressing-bag  while  your  back 
was  turned.  I  was  the  little  dressmaker's  assistant, 
as  I  told  you  just  now.  Incredible  as  it  seems,  I 
obtained  those  letters  of  yours  from  Marcel  Fleur 
without  his  knowledge." 

Then  suddenly  it  struck  her  that  she  might 
improve  upon  that  statement,  and  she  added 
quickly — 

"  I  mean  without  his  knowledge  of  what  I  was 
going  to  do  with  them,  for  he  himself  presented  them 
to  me." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  burst  from  Theodora's  lips. 

"All  things  are  possible  to  men,"  cried  the 
Countess,  "  except  to  one  man,  my  husband,"  she 
added. 

She  bowed  her  head  on  her  breast  and  gave  way 
to  violent  and  very  effective  sobs. 

"  Oh !  how  I  am  suffering !  "  she  moaned.  "  But 
through  it  all  I  feel  the  justice  of  it.  I  deserve  to 
suffer.  Don't  think  for  one  moment  that  I  am  not 
keenly  alive  to  that,  and  yet,  oh !  dear  Lady  Ailing- 
ham,  there  is  surely  some  allowance  to  be  made  for 
me." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  What  allowance  can 
possibly  be  made  for  you  ?  "  said  East,  sternly. 

"  I've  done  mischief  enough,"  said  the  Countess, 
meekly  ;  "  I  will  not  do  any  further  harm  to  the 
man  who  has  already  suffered  his  share." 

"Are  you  speaking  of  Sir  George  Allingham?" 
asked  Theodora,  fiercely. 

"Yes!" 

"  Then  you  shall  explain  yourself." 

Her  burning  little  hands  were  like  bands  of  fire 
round  the  other  woman's  crushed  wrists. 

"  Oh,  dear  Lady  Allingham,  pity  me,  pity  your- 
self, pity  Sir  George  !  "  wept  the  Countess  de  Rigos. 

The  Count  quivered.  "  What  is  coming  now  ?  " 
he  asked  himself,  trembling  with  amazement  at  the 


304  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

extraordinary  behaviour  of  his  wife.  "  What  is  she 
going  to  say  next  ?  "  He  watched  her.  Whither  had 
fled  her  beauty?  Where  was  her  old-time  charm? 
She  was  haggard  and  ghastly,  with  her  hair  hanging 
loose  and  undressed  over  her  shoulders,  and  her  grey 
velvet  gown  emphasising  all  the  defects  and  ravages 
that  grief  and  suspense  had  wrought  in  her  usually 
so  carefully  cared-for  person.  She  was  actually  ugly. 

Yet  he  was  staring  at  her  hungrily,  with  a  look  in 
his  eyes  that  had  never  been  there  before,  even  in 
the  hour  of  his  most  absolute  worship,  when  all  that 
art  and  wealth  could  summon  to  her  assistance  had 
been  used  by  her  to  aid  her  beauty  and  charm.  "  In 
this  moment  she  is  real"  he  was  telling  himself. 

He  held  his  breath,  unconscious  himself  of  the 
tremendous  strain  under  which  he  was  labouring,  as 
he  waited  for  further  developments  in  this  extra- 
ordinary drama  which  was  being  played  so  cleverly 
all  for  his  benefit,  had  he  only  known  it. 

"Do  you  mean  that  my  husband  was  in  love 
with  you  ?  "  cried  Theodora.  "  Is  that  what  you  are 
endeavouring  to  insinuate  ?  " 

"  Not  to  insinuate,"  said  the  Countess,  sadly,  "  but 
to  suppress !  Why  should  I  grieve  you — you  poor, 
poor  child,  who  have  suffered  so  much  already  ?  " 

"  He  forgot  me  utterly  the  moment  he  met  you," 
she  continued.  "  Your  exquisite  young  beauty  wiped 
out,  like  a  sponge  over  a  slate,  every  trace  of  his 
affection  for  me.  In  one  moment,  as  it  were,  I  was 
forgotten.  He  had  asked  me  to  marry  him,  and  I 
had  consented.  Then  you  came  into  his  life,  and 
what  was  more  natural  than  that  he  should  fall  madly 
in  love  with  your  wonderful  beauty  and  youth  ?  Ah, 
your  youth  ! "  she  cried.  "  He  worshipped  that — it 
was  that  he  worshipped  so,  and  that  you  had  never  had 
eyes  for  any  one  else.  My  youth  was  gone.  I  was 
the  widow  of  an  old  friend  of  his.  I  was  not  young 
— I  was  not  beautiful.  What  more  natural  than  that 
I  should  be  superseded  ?  " 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  305 

Theodora  had  relaxed  her  burning  grasp  on  those 
white  wrists.  The  Countess's  hands  were  now  free  to 
dab  a  little  lace  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

She  wept  bitterly  for  several  moments.  Then  she 
controlled  herself,  and  continued  in  a  low,  shaking 
voice — 

"  Sir  George  Allingham  threw  me  over — he  threw 
me  aside,  and  I  was  but  a  woman.  I  resented  it.  I 
had  a  heart.  How  can  I  help  it  that  I  am  made  like 
that — a  woman  who  feels  deeply  and  intensely  ?  I 
suffered  terribly.  I  was  overwhelmed  by  the  feeling 
of  revenge.  I  knew  I  had  been  treated  unfairly,  and 
by  degrees  it  grew  into  an  obsession  with  me,  it  over- 
whelmed other  things.  I  had  to  be  revenged.  Some 
power  stronger  than  myself  carried  me  onwards, 
whispered  to  me  that  I  must  show  that  fair,  highly 
respected  Englishman  what  it  was  to  suffer.  And  so 
I  stole  the  plans  and  placed  them  in  your  dressing- 
bag,  knowing  that  suffering  to  you  would  be  the 
most  terrible  suffering  that  could  fall  upon  him."  She 
threw  out  her  white  hands  in  a  wild,  dramatic  gesture. 
"  There  is  the  truth  ! "  she  cried.  "  Now  you  know 
me  at  my  worst  — a  woman  who  revenged  herself  for 
love.  But  it  was  not  real  love,"  she  added  softly,  and 
her  eyelids  came  down  for  the  moment,  while  the  eye- 
lashes formed  a  dark  fringe  against  the  pallor  of  her 
cheeks.  "  It  was  not  real,  I  had  learnt  that,  for  it  was 
permitted  me  to  know  the  difference.  I  was  shown 
by  fate  the  true  and  glorious  nature  of  a  real  love.  I 
married  the  Count  de  Rigos,  as  you  know,  and  in 
him  I  found  all  that  I  had  hitherto  missed  in  life. 
And  I  learnt  to  love  him,  to  adore  him." 

The  note  in  her  voice  now  was  utterly  genuine  in 
its  fierce  tenderness. 

"  Never  was  there  any  one  like  him,  my  Ignace, 
my  husband,"  she  cried ;  "  and  though  he  has  left 
me,  spurning  me  for  my  femininity  and  weakness,  I 
shall  love  him  to  my  dying  day,  and  after — 'out 
beyond  into  the  world  to  come,' "  she  quoted  softly, 

x 


3o6  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

with  her  eyes  still  closed  and  that  rapt  look  lingering 
upon  her  face. 

East's  calm,  quiet  voice  broke  through  the 
hysterical,  excited  atmosphere  of  the  rooms,  like  a 
cold  wind  after  a  burning  scirocco. 

"  I  have  taken  your  statement  in  writing,"  he  said, 
pointing  to  the  page  of  shorthand  he  had  been  rapidly 
transcribing.  "  I  think  when  needed  you  will  be  called 
upon  to  give  your  evidence,  and  I  take  it  that  you 
will  be  ready  to  do  your  best  to  liberate  Sir  George 
Allingham  from  his  present  absurd  and  disgraceful 
position." 

"Anything  I  can  do,"  she  cried,  "command  me. 
Tell  me — just  tell  me  what  I  shall  do.  All  I  want  is 
to  make  reparation — only  that !  " 

"Then,  Lady  Allingham,  I  think  that  we  had 
better  go,"  said  East,  turning  to  Theodora.  "  There 
is  much  to  do." 

When  they  had  gone,  the  Countess  de  Rigos 
threw  herself  at  full  length  on  the  wide  divan  among 
the  innumerable  cushions. 

"  Oh,  my  heart  is  broken  completely,"  she  sobbed, 
"  and  yet  I  have  only  done  my  duty  ! "  She  raised  her 
voice  so  that  Ignace  could  not  help  but  hear.  "  I  have 
told  the  truth.  I  have  painted  myself  in  my  blackest 
colours.  I  have  covered  myself  with  everlasting  shame 
and  ignominy.  I  deserve  no  pity.  Grief  and  loneli- 
ness are  all  that  I  can  conscientiously  demand  from 
life,  and  they — are  they  to  be  my  portion  ?  I  see 
that  clearly.  My  husband — my  beloved — has  left  me, 
He  thinks  me  weak,  perhaps.  He  little  knows  that, 
after  all,  I  am  no  coward.  Surely  he  would  have 
realised  that  in  this  heart  of  mine  there  is  a  wealth 
of  goodness  and  courage,  waiting  only  to  be  called 
upon.  Surely  he  would  have  loved  me  a  little  as  he 
did  in  those  dear  hours  gone  by.  Surely  he  would 
have  forgiven  me." 

"  He  must  have  forgiven  you,"  echoed  a  voice, 
speaking  aloud  from  somewhere  among  the  silent 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  307 

shadows  cast  by  the  swiftly  oncoming  night  in  the 
rooms  of  the  Countess  de  Rigos.  Her  husband  stood 
before  her. 

"  He  does  forgive  you,"  he  was  saying. 

There  was  the  gleam  of  something  bright  and 
glittering.  He  stooped  over  her,  and  a  report  was 
heard.  At  the  same  instant  the  Countess  fell. 

"  You  shall  confess  no  more,  my  angel.  .  . .  Ignace, 
who  loved  you  well  and  deeply,  will  save  you  from  the 
inevitable  fate  he  sees  lurking  in  front  of  you !  Sooner 
or  later,  beloved,  you  would  have  to  answer  before 
the  tribunal  of  the  world  for  these  misdeeds  of  yours. 
You  would  be  tried !  You  would  be  judged  !  Ah  ! 
beloved,"  he  muttered,  "  the  judges  who  have  been 
selected  by  this  world  to  arraign  their  fellow-creatures 
would  not  be  kind  to  you,  my  dear  one.  They  would 
call  you  hard,  hard  names.  They  would  mete  out 
to  you  the  full  measure  of  punishment,  never  taking 
into  consideration  for  one  moment  your  temperament, 
your  dauntless  courage,  and  those  terrible  circum- 
stances of  fate  against  which  you  have  waged  war, 
poor  dear  one,  with  such  qualms  of  heart  that  you 
bravely  conceal,  with  such  agonies  of  mind,  with  such 
unequal  never-to-be-forgotten  effrontery  ! " 

He  stole  away  from  her  rooms  then,  and  went 
straight  down  the  stairs,  out  of  the  house,  unnoticed 
by  any  one ;  and  he  was  far  away  from  Paris  when 
midnight  fell  upon  the  glittering,  night-loving  city, 
and  the  death  of  the  lovely  Countess  was  already 
circulating  sensationally  far  and  wide  through  the 
medium  of  the  indefatigable  evening  journals. 

Suicide  !  Death  by  her  own  hand  !  Shot  through 
the  heart ! 

For  the  revolver  lay  there  on  the  snowy  bearskins, 
just  where  it  had  fallen  from  her  ice-cold  fingers  ;  and 
the  bullet-wound  in  her  breast  was  just  where  it  could 
have  been  most  easily  fired  by  her  own  hand,  right 
into  her  heart,  with  all  its  falseness  and  duplicity,  that 
was  now  for  ever  ended  in  the  stillness  and  silence 
of  Death. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

THE  day  had  dawned  at  last  when  the  French 
Government  would  wait  no  longer.  Rumours  had 
been  afloat  and  circulating  for  a  long  time.  Some- 
times they  died  away  ;  then  they  broke  out  again 
more  distinctly  than  ever,  fed  by  the  ingenious  and 
unceasing  tactics  of  Le  Jour. 

"  What  has  become  of  onr  National  Airship  ?" 
"  Is  Monsieur  Marcel  Fleur  asleep  or  dreaming?  " 
"  When  are  we  to  have  our  demonstration  ?  " 
"  Paris  astir.      Where  is  our  Marcel  Fleur' s  world- 
talked-of  invention?     Why  do  we  hear  and  see  no 
more  of  it  ?  " 
And  so  on. 

They  began  softly,  these  murmurs  ;  they  increased 
in  sound  and  volume  ;  they  grew  bolder  and  more 
direct  in  their  demands  and  insinuations,  until  at  last 
the  little  insidious  sparks  had  been  fanned  into  vast 
flames,  that  kept  on  growing  and  growing  in  their 
fierceness  and  intensity. 

Armand  Roche,  of  Le  Jour,  was  at  work  now  in 
deadly  earnest.  He  was  carefully  guarding  Ivan,  and 
keeping  from  him  all  the  news  of  the  day,  and  luckily 
— for  Le  Jour — that  icy  journey  from  Florence  to 
Innsbruck  had  had  a  disastrous  effect  on  the  old 
man's  frame,  and  he  was  now  confined  to  his  bed 
in  an  hotel  at  Munich — not  altogether  to  Armand 
Roche's  regret.  Armand  was  in  luck,  he  thought. 
His  telegrams  respecting  Lady  Allingham  had  been 
splendid.  No  other  paper  had  managed  to  get  hold 
of  that  news.  And  now  she  had  flown  to  Paris.  He 

308 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  309 

had  let  her  go — that  was  his  way  of  putting  it — he 
had  not  followed.  To  guard  Ivan  was  his  work,  for 
the  great  scheme  of  Le  Jour  was  now  about  to  be 
perpetrated. 

Marcel  Fleur  was  announced  to  give  his  great 
public  demonstration.  At  last  Paris  was  about  to 
be  satisfied.  And  at  last  Le  Jour  was  about  to 
make  its  triumphal  coup. 

The  night  before,  Marcel  Fleur  sat  huddled  up  and 
shivering  in  a  great  armchair  in  front  of  the  dying 
fire  in  his  laboratory  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain. 

On  the  long  table  was  the  model  which  had  been 
brought  him  by  the  Englishman,  Bostock,  a  few  months 
previously.  It  was  connected  with  the  machinery  of 
which  it  was  the  necessary  complement.  The  electric 
current  from  the  main  had  been  turned  on,  and  to 
a  stranger  coming  into  the  room,  it  would  have  seemed 
that  the  continuous  movement  of  wheels,  which  caused 
a  musical  hum  to  resound  throughout  the  chamber, 
indicated  a  beautifully  balanced  mechanism.  If  this 
stranger  had  looked  further,  he  would  have  seen  the 
table  bestrewed  with  paper,  and  plans — plans  fixed 
with  pins  on  drawing-boards,  plans  rolled  out  and 
kept  in  place  by  any  kind  of  weights,  books  in  most 
cases,  at  their  four  corners,  plans  half  unrolled  or 
wholly  rolled  up. 

Marcel  had  been  hard  at  work  here  for  endless 
hours.  For  days  and  weeks  he  had  studied  feverishly 
the  abstruse  calculations  contained  in  those  sheets  of 
foolscap  before  him ;  for  weeks  had  he  compared 
every  detail  of  his  plans,  and  again  for  weeks  had  he 
watched  and  kept  record  of  the  motions  of  his  machines. 
Yet,  after  all  these  weeks  of  constant  and  careful  work, 
and  while  yet  the  machinery  seemed  to  be  moving 
smoothly  and  rhythmically — to  the  uninformed  out- 
sider apparently  fulfilling  all  its  functions — why,  then, 
did  Marcel  sit  shivering  and  huddled  up  in  front  of 
a  dying  fire,  with  that  look  of  blank  despair  on  his 
thin,  sallow  face  ? 


3io  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

It  is  hard  to  have  success  within  one's  reach,  to 
see  the  possibilities  of  wealth  and  distinction  all 
ready  for  grasping  before  one's  view,  to  think  that 
here  at  last  is  the  final  fulfilment  of  all  one's  hopes 
and  aspirations,  and  then  suddenly  and  unexpectedly 
to  meet  with  a  reverse,  such  a  bouleversement  as  the 
disappearance  of  Ivan  had  proved  to  Marcel  Fleur. 

"The  French  Government  insists,"  he  muttered. 
"  It  is  either  disgrace  or "  he  paused  and  shivered. 

We  remember  how  successful  had  been  the  flight 
from  Melun  to  London,  and  how  Marcel  had,  in  that 
experience,  demonstrated  to  a  wondering  world  the 
capacity  of  his  remarkable  invention.  That  ex- 
cursion had  stimulated  the  British  intelligence  to  an 
extent  unknown  since  the  Boer  war,  and  had  been 
the  occasion  of  such  inquietude  in  Germany  that  it 
was  even  suggested  in  the  highest  quarters  that  a 
casus  belli  should  at  once  be  determined  with  France, 
lest  a  worst  thing  for  Germany  should  happen  ! 

But  why  should  Marcel  not  be  able  to  fall  in  with 
the  requirements  of  the  French  Government  ? 

He  had  made  a  successful  flight.  He  had  demon- 
strated that  his  machine  could  overcome  all  the 
difficulties  which  navigators  might  contemplate.  The 
machine  had  been  shown  to  be  superior  to  changes  of 
wind  directions,  and  alteration  of  temperatures  ;  in 
fact,  the  wonderful  automatic  controlling  mechanism 
which  Ivan  had  devised  had  ensured  safety  under  all 
the  varying  conditions  of  the  inconstant  air. 

But  Ivan  had  been  spirited  away.  Ivan,  with  his 
wonderful  brain,  was  no  longer  there  to  make  the  neces- 
sary suggestions  when  the  mechanism  failed.  He 
was  gone,  and  the  plans  of  the  airship  were  gone  also. 
Not  a  trace  of  them  had  been  discovered. 

And  Marcel  sat  by  the  fire  alone,  gazing  with 
wild,  tired  eyes  into  what  lay  before  him. 

"  After  all,  a  man  can  but  die  once ! "  he  mur- 
mured. "  Anyway,  I  shall  face  the  supreme  test.  I 
shall  do  my  best," 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  311 

A  wave  of  bitterness  flowed  over  him.  He  cursed 
the  fates  roundly  that  had  endowed  him  with  all  his 
brilliant  gifts,  yet  had  denied  him  the  final  something 
which  would  have  enabled  him  to  complete  all  his 
plans.  How  cruel  it  was  that  he,  who  was  in  reality 
so  brilliant  a  being,  should  be  frustrated  by  some 
irony  of  destiny ! 

Next  day  at  noon,  all  Paris  was  out  watching. 
Marcel  Fleur  !  The  name  was  on  every  one's  lips, 
and  crowds  of  spectators  were  making  a  day  of  it,  in 
order  to  follow  his  demonstration. 

The  machine  was  brought  out  along  the  rail, 
gradually  rising  as  it  got  towards  the  end  thereof. 
The  flight  was  at  first  smooth  and  regularly  upward. 
Marcel  circled  round  above  the  heads  of  the  people 
about  150  feet. 

The  vast  crowds,  watching  and  admiring,  broke 
into  excited  cheering. 

After  a  long  circuit  it  was  noticed  that  the  machine 
was  rapidly  rising  with  a  remarkable  velocity.  The 
crowds  cheered  still  more  loudly. 

But  those  who  were  watching  through  their  glasses 
observed  Marcel's  quick  movements,  and  realised  that 
he  seemed  to  be  in  difficulties. 

The  upward  velocity  increased  at  an  alarming  rate, 
so  that  in  a  few  minutes  the  machine  simply  appeared 
like  a  small  bird  to  the  unaided  eye,  at  such  a  rate 
had  it  flown  skywards  in  the  wild  celerity  of  its  course. 

"  Vive  Marcel  Fleur  !"  shouted  the  crowd. 

Suddenly  the  intense  and  breathless  silence  of 
suspense  that  held,  as  though  in  chains  of  iron,  the 
enormous  crowd  of  watching  Parisians,  was  broken  by 
a  sudden  cry  from  those  more  fortunate  people  who 
were  following  the  flight  of  the  machine  through  their 
opera  glasses. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !     Qitest-ce  que  Jest  ?  What  is  this  ? " 

With  every  nerve  of  brain  and  body  strained  to 
the  very  uttermost,  they  watched,  these  Parisians,  the 
doings  of  their  idol. 


312  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

And  not  Parisians  only  were  they,  these  vast  surg- 
ing masses  of  onlookers  who  had  come  hither  to-day 
to  see  the  supreme  manifestation  of  what  the  greatest 
aeronaut  of  the  day  had  achieved  in  the  little-known 
field  of  aviation — but  Germans,  Russians,  Austrians, 
Englishmen,  of  the  highest  birth  and  most  dis- 
tinguished calibre,  were  following  the  course  of  that 
little  bird-like  speck  with  an  intensity  that  defies  all 
words — so  acute  and  deep-reaching  was  it.  It  seemed 
as  though  the  whole  world  was  aroused.  The  Con- 
tinental nations  had  lost  sight  of  their  boundaries. 
In  the  cause  of  science  all  these  European  countries 
had  become  as  one,  just  as  in  a  great  football  match, 
or — may  we  say  it  ? — in  a  dog  fight,  as  the  author  of 
"  Rab  and  his  Friends  "  has  said  it  for  us,  when  every 
man  loses  sight  of  his  identity  in  the  supreme  excite- 
ment of  the  fight  and  the  unknown  issue. 

Breathlessly  the  multitude  gazed  upwards. 

Down,  down,  down,  that  little  black  speck  was 
now  dashing.  Every  heart-beat  seemed  to  increase 
its  incredible  rapidity  of  movement.  What  was 
happening  ?  Was  it  possible  something  was  going 
wrong  ?  Down,  down,  down,  it  came  rushing — that 
little  bird-like  speck,  and  as  it  came  nearer  and  nearer 
the  watching  crowd  it  became  larger  and  blacker, 
only  that  there  was  not  time  to  note  anything  of  this. 

As  it  came  towards  the  ground  the  crowds  yelled 
and  shrieked  with  terror,  and  dashed  wildly  aside  in 
all  directions,  fearing  the  horror  of  death  and  demo- 
lition that  the  fall  of  the  airship  in  their  midst  would 
cause  inevitably.  All  in  a  moment,  it  seemed — in 
an  incredible  second — it  had  reached  the  earth,  and 
the  weight  and  shock  of  the  collision  had  shattered 
it  far  and  wide  into  a  thousand  atoms.  Luckily,  it 
fell  into  a  clear  space.  No  one  was  injured.  The 
one  and  only  fatality,  or  accident  even,  was  the  fright- 
ful death  that  had  befallen  Marcel  Fleur  himself. 

It  seemed  as  if  nothing  was  left  of  the  wonderful, 
soaring  creature  that  had  taken  possession  of  the  air 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  313 

and  the  sky  in  so  imperial  a  fashion,  guided  by  the  hand 
of  a  man  who  had  mastered  the  secrets  of  the  air  and 
devoted  his  life  to  experimenting  and  demonstrating 
his  knowledge  to  the  glory  of  France. 

It  was  all  over. 

Several  moments  of  awe-stricken  silence  reigned 
over  the  watching,  listening  crowd.  Every  one  stood 
as  though  paralysed.  No  one  moved  or  spoke.  A 
terrible  emotion  chained  every  man  and  woman  and 
child  in  that  great  crowd,  and  kept  them  motionless 
and  speechless. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  "  breathed  the  Parisians. 

What  was  it  exactly  that  had  caused  disaster  ? 
Where  had  Marcel  Fleur  encountered  that  haunting, 
fateful  point  which  his  sharpened  senses  had  prog- 
nosticated to  him  so  vividly  before  the  demonstration  ? 
What  had  gone  wrong  up  there,  alone,  in  the  high 
empyrean  ?  No  one  could  do  more  than  suggest,  for 
definite  knowledge  must  be  for  ever  impossible.  Pro- 
bably the  forces  imprisoned  in  the  radio-motor,  kept 
under  control  by  Ivan's  invention,  had  burst  away 
from  beyond  Marcel's  command,  and  had  resulted  in 
a  complete  disintegration  of  the  component  parts  of 
the  machinery. 

The  gas  envelope  had  burst  as  a  result  of  the 
explosion,  and  the  remainder  of  the  mutilated  machine 
had  been  hurled  headlong  into  destruction,  with  the 
ill-fated  aeronaut  in  its  grasp. 

Then  some  officials  recovered  their  senses,  and 
hurried  towards  the  spot  where  the  airship  had  de- 
scended. 

The  air  was  broken  with  sounds  of  women  weeping 
and  of  men's  ejaculations,  breathed  out  fiercely  and 
hotly  from  the  very  depths  of  their  hearts. 

All  that  remained  of  the  world-famous  aeronaut 
was  a  shapeless  and  unrecognisable  mass. 

"Marcel  Fleur!  Oh!  Marcel  Fleur,"  wept  the 
crowds  when  they  understood  what  had  happened. 

A  wave  of  poignant,  indescribable  bitterness  flowed 


3H  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

like  the  sea  over  the  hearts  of  these  adoring,  idolising 
people. 

There  was  no  limit  to  their  grief,  and  they  threw 
themselves  on  the  earth  and  allowed  their  fellow- 
beings  to  trample  on  them  in  the  agony  of  their 
emotion,  for  it  seemed  to  them  that  Marcel  was  a 
martyr  who  had  died  for  a  great  cause.  A  hero  was 
he,  whose  lustre  the  years  would  never  dim,  come  what 
might,  whose  courage  and  brilliancy  could  never,  never 
be  wiped  off  the  calendars  of  the  French  nation, 
whose  name  would  never  be  forgotten,  but  must  be 
handed  down  to  generations  of  the  children  of  the 
future,  with  the  proud  words,  "  Marcel  Fleur  died  in 
the  cause  of  the  greatest  discovery  the  world  has  ever 
known." 

And  so  Marcel  came  by  his  laurel  wreath,  and 
Le  Jour  was  left  to  make  the  very  best  it  could  of 
the  matter. 

Why  need  we  disguise  the  fact?  Paltry  and 
trivial  though  it  may  seem,  Le  Jour  was  very  angry. 
The  prize  had  been  snatched,  as  it  were,  from  its 
fingers.  It  had  anticipated  the  utter  confusion  and 
exposure  of  Marcel  Fleur,  and  had  been  all  prepared 
to  come  out  with  its  startling  story  of  why  the  aero- 
naut was  unable  to  give  a  satisfactory  demonstration 
of  his  powers  and  his  machine.  Instead,  he  was  dead  ! 
And  in  one  moment  his  name  was  carved  on  a  niche 
from  which  the  bravest  man  would  not  dare  to  oust 
him. 

In  the  end  he  had  succeeded  beyond  any  dream 
of  his  own. 


CHAPTER   XLII 

AFTER  leaving  the  Countess  de  Rigos,  Theodora 
drove  to  the  prison  with  William  East.  The  parting 
with  him  inside  the  gates  of  the  prison  had  no  signifi- 
cance whatever  to  her,  for  the  only  thought  in  her 
mind  at  that  moment  was  that  she  was  about  to  see 
George  ;  and  she  was  utterly  blind  to  the  feelings  of 
this  big,  strong  man  beside  her,  who  had  so  wonder- 
fully played  the  part  of  a  kind  and  protecting  brother 
to  her  ever  since  the  first  moment  they  had  met  at 
Pietra  Santa.  Never  by  word  or  look  had  he  allowed 
himself  to  reveal  a  suspicion  of  his  great  love  for  her. 

"  Shall  I  wait  for  you  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Oh,  you're  so  good  to  me ! "  cried  Theodora. 
"  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  as  if  I  ought  to  allow  you 
to  waste  so  much  of  your  time  over  me  as  you  have 
been  doing  ever  since  the  moment  I  first  saw  you. 
It  seems  so  horrid  of  me  to  let  you." 

"Please  let  me,"  he  said  simply,  holding  her  soft 
little  white  hand  in  his,  since  she  left  it  there  so 
confidingly.  "It  is  a  pleasure  to  me,  as  you  know, 
to  do  anything  for  you." 

"So  you  always  say,"  she  replied,  with  a  little 
spark  of  gaiety.  "Then,  if  you'll  be  so  good,  you 
may  wait  for  me,  and  I  shall  look  forward  to  seeing 
you  again  when  my  interview  with  my  husband  is 
over.  It  will  not  be  long,"  she  added  sadly,  and  she 
left  him,  standing  there  in  the  courtyard,  while  the 
custodians  conducted  her  away  to  the  right,  into  the 
room  where  she  was  to  meet  Sir  George  Allingham. 

"  Now  she  is  gone !  "  said  East,  and  his  face  grew 


316  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

drawn.  "  She  has  gone  to  him,  and  that  is  the  only 
thought  in  her  mind." 

He  paced  up  and  down,  smoking  his  cigarette, 
until  the  porter  asked  him  would  he  not  sit  down 
a  while  in  the  waiting-room,  where  the  fire  was 
burning. 

"  Here's  the  latest  evening  journal,  monsieur," 
added  the  man. 

He  opened  the  still  damp  sheets  of  the  little 
evening  newspaper. 

Great  black,  blinding  letters  had  been  employed 
to  give  further  importance  and  publicity  to  the  one 
event  of  the  day  that  Paris  could  think  of. 

"  The  Airship's  Demonstration  !  Terrible  Catas- 
trophe !  Dashed  to  Pieces  Before  the  Eyes  of  all 
Paris  !  Marcel  Fleur's  Glorious  Death  in  the  Cause 
of  Science ! " 

These  words  leapt  before  him  as  he  read. 

In  the  meantime,  Theodora  had  crossed  the  court- 
yard and  been  conducted  by  two  silent  turnkeys  into 
a  dark  little  room  on  the  right,  whose  one  long  door 
was  entirely  of  glass.  She  passed  in,  and  the  glass 
door  swung  behind  her,  but  the  turnkey  who  had 
escorted  her  remained  at  the  door,  where  he  could 
look  in  and  see  all  that  happened.  The  room  was 
absolutely  bare,  except  for  one  long  deal  table  and 
three  common  chairs.  Through  the  dimness  of  the 
late  afternoon  light,  that  was  all  yellowy  and  blurred 
in  the  absence  of  the  sun  and  the  overhanging  rain- 
clouds  that  were  already  beginning  to  break  dolorously 
over  Paris,  she  saw  before  her  a  man  rising  from  a 
chair  at  the  far  end  of  the  long  deal  table.  .  .  .  He 
came  towards  her  .  .  .  nearer  and  nearer  .  .  .  until 
at  last  they  were  looking  into  each  other's  eyes. 

"  Why  have  you  come  here  ?  "  The  words  fell 
dully  and  lifelessly  from  his  lips.  There  was  no  light 
in  his  eyes  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"  George ! " 

Like  a  flame  of  fire  his  name  burst  from  her,  and 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  317 

whatever  she  had  meant  to  do  or  say  was  swept  away 
into  oblivion  as  she  looked  into  his  face  again  "  after 
long  grief  and  pain." 

"  Why  have  you  come  ?  "  he  asked  dully. 

"  Oh,  George — George  !  " 

She  had  rushed  towards  him  and  thrown  herself 
into  his  arms,  and  her  face  was  there  just  under  his, 
and  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to  hold  her. 

"You  should  not  have  come,"  he  repeated. 

For  several  moments  she  was  quite  incapable  of 
speech.  The  turnkey,  looking  in  through  the  glass 
door,  turned  away  his  head.  The  Englishman's  face 
was  ghastly,  and  the  beautiful  wife  was  weeping  in 
his  arms.  These  scenes  were  common  to  the  prison, 
and  yet  they  never  lost  their  frightful  human  pathos, 
for  he  was  a  Frenchman — the  turnkey — and  the  love 
of  a  man  and  a  woman  was  something  that  he  never 
could  look  upon  wholly  unmovedly,  in  spite  of  the 
many  harrowing  scenes  he  had  been  witness  of.  It 
was  always  the  same.  The  wife  always  wept  passion- 
ate tears.  The  man  who  was  guilty  always  looked 
white  and  set  as  if  he  were  tasting  his  bitterest  moment 
when  he  realised  that  a  woman's  love  for  him  had 
kept  alive  through  thick  and  thin,  and  was  burning 
fiercely,  although  he  was  here  in  prison,  charged  with 
some  crime  of  which,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  he  was 
all  too  guilty.  But  not  often  had  as  lovely  a  woman 
as  this  been  admitted  to  an  interview  with  a  prisoner 
here,  and  the  turnkey  sighed,  and  hoped  from  the 
very  bottom  of  his  heart  that  things  would  turn  out 
all  right  in  the  end  for  this  good-looking,  distinguished 
couple. 

"  I'll  not  be  hard  on  them,"  he  muttered  ;  "  if  they 
go  over  the  time  a  little  I  won't  say  anything." 

"  You  should  not  have  come,"  George  repeated. 

"  Oh  !  yes — yes  .  .  .  the  terrible  part  of  it  is  that 
I  never  came  before."  She  drew  herself  away  from 
him,  now  realising  bitterly  that  there  was  a  coldness 
and  aloofness  in  his  manner  of  holding  her.  Yes, 


318  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

even  now,  in  the  supreme  moment,  when  she  had 
come  to  him  in  his  prison  to  try  to  save  him,  he  was 
making  her  feel  that  his  heart  was  cold  towards  her. 

"  I  knew  nothing  about  it  until  two  days  ago,"  she 
told  him,  her  voice  coming  in  little  broken  breaths, 
and  her  white  hand  pressed  against  her  heart  as  she 
tried  to  overcome  the  violent  trembling  that  ran 
through  her  slight,  fragile  frame.  "  I  was  far  away, 
and  I  heard  nothing.  I  saw  no  newspapers — I  had 
no  news,  because  I  had  placed  myself  for  several  days 
in  a  position  where  no  news  could  reach  me,  even 
from  my  darling  mother,  and  then  when  she  might 
have  written  to  me  she  was  taken  ill  with  pneumonia, 
and  has  been  hanging  between  life  and  death  ever 
since." 

"  I  am  grieved  to  hear  that,"  said  George,  quietly. 
"  My  friend  the  Duke  d'Ailes  informed  me  of  her 
serious  illness.  I  trust  the  worst  is  over  now." 

"  I  have  seen  her  to-day  for  a  few  moments,"  said 
Theodora,  sadly.  "  She's  very  ill ;  but  the  crisis  has 
passed,  and  the  doctors  say  she  may  recover,  with  the 
greatest  care." 

Now  her  little  white  hands  were  clasping  and 
unclasping  themselves  in  the  old  nervous  way  that  he 
knew  so  well. 

"  I  have  so  much  to  say  to  you,"  she  stammered, 
"  that  I  scarcely  know  where  to  begin,  but  as  we're 
speaking  of  my  mother" — she  paused — "there  is 
something  very  painful " — she  paused  again— 

"Then  do  not  speak  of  it,"  said  George,  gravely. 

"Ah!  But  it  was  my  silence  about  it  that  wrought 
terrible  mischief  between  you  and  me." 

George  started.  "  What  do  you  mean  ? "  he  said. 
"  What  painful  thing  connected  with  your  mother  has 
ever  been  the  cause  of  mischief  between  you  and 
me  ? " 

As  he  spoke,  there  flashed  across  him  a  vivid 
recollection  of  that  night  when  Theodora  and  the 
Princess  had  gone  off  to  the  hospital  to  see  the 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  319 

dying  Pole,  Krikoffsky.  Krikoffsky  had  died  before 
they  saw  him.  Then,  when  they  came  back,  how 
angered  he  had  been  at  the  way  Theodora  had 
treated  him,  refusing  to  open  her  lips  on  the  subject, 
although,  as  he  told  her,  she  and  her  mother  had 
risen  from  his  dinner  table  to  go  to  the  hospital  and 
see  this  man.  He  had — quite  unsuspecting  that  he 
was  doing  an  unpleasant  thing — questioned  her  on 
her  return,  asking  her  for  news  of  the  poor  man  she 
had  rushed  away  to  see,  and  she  had  refused  him  all 
information.  She  had  acted  in  a  most  extraordinary 
way.  She  had  turned  the  subject  ostentatiously. 
And  then  his  anger  had  leaped  forth.  After  all,  he 
was  only  a  man  !  It  was  but  natural  that  he  should 
expect  his  wife  to  treat  him  as  a  friend,  and  not  as  an 
utter  stranger,  as  she  had  treated  him  that  night. 
She  had  risen  and  swept  out  of  the  room,  rather  than 
vouchsafe  one  little  word  of  information  to  him. 
Yes,  here  in  the  sombre  silence  of  the  prison  it  came 
back  to  him,  as  it  had  come  back  many  a  time  since 
they  had  parted. 

"I  could  not  tell  you  before,"  Theodora  was 
saying.  ..."  It  was  not  my  affair  ...  it  was  too 
terrible.  But  to-day  she,  my  beloved  mamma,  she 
has  told  me  to  tell  you  all,  and  I  am  going  to  do  so." 
Her  voice  broke  with  emotion. 

"  Why  tell  me  ? "  cried  George,  sharply.  "  Why 
torture  yourself?  I  assure  you  there  is  no  need. 
That  sort  of  thing  is  all  over  and  done  with.  The 
time  for  confidences  is  over  !  " 

"  No ;  it  has  not  yet  begun." 

Some  wave  of  courage  flowed  over  her  just  then, 
and  stilled  her  trembling  nerves.  She  looked  up  into 
his  eyes,  and  began  to  speak  in  the  low,  clear  voice, 
telling  her  story  quickly,  because  there  was  so  much 
more  to  tell  afterwards. 

"  I  grieved  you  that  night  by  my  silence.  You 
were  angry  with  me  because  I  refused  to  confide  in  you. 
I  deepened  the  cloud  of  suspicion  and  mistrust " 


320  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

She  paused  and  faltered,  and  then  went  on  sadly, 
"  and  dislike  that  had  taken  possession  of  your  heart. 
And  yet  what  could  I  do  ?  It  was  a  matter  con- 
cerning the  honour  of  the  dearest  one  on  earth." 
(Was  it  her  fancy,  or  did  George  wince  at  that  phrase 
on  her  lips  ?)  "My  mother,"  she  continued  hastily. 
"  It  is  something  very  sad — and  very  dreadful."  She 
braced  herself,  and  told  him  with  no  further  hesitation 
of  that  dark  shadow  which  had  lain  over  the  Princess's 
life.  "The  man  who  died  that  night — that  man 
Krikoffsky,  the  singer — he  was  my  father." 

George  started,  and  looked  at  her  as  if  unable  to 
realise  what  she  was  saying. 

"  My  mother  had  married  him,  believing  her  hus- 
band was  dead  and  that  she  was  a  widow.  And  I 
was  their  child,  and  a  few  weeks  after  my  birth  my 
mother's  English  husband  reappeared.  There  was  a 
scene — a  duel,  and  he  left  Krikoffsky  as  if  dead, 
and  forced  my  mother  to  flee  with  him  out  of  the 
country." 

"  I  see  why  you  could  not  tell  me,"  said  Sir 
George,  in  a  low  voice,  breaking  the  silence  after  a 
moment.  "  But  if  you  thought  it  would  have  mattered 
to  me,  you  were  wrong.  You  might  have  trusted  me." 

A  vast  silence  seemed  to  have  settled  down  upon 
them  and  chained  them  in  its  grasp.  They  stood  there 
before  each  other,  unable  to  speak,  these  two  who  had 
so  much  to  tell  each  other.  The  turnkey  walked  up 
and  down  outside,  observing  that  they  were  not  speak- 
ing, and  thinking  it  a  pity  they  did  not  make  better 
use  of  their  time  than  stand  there  staring  dumbly  and 
stupidly  about  them — these  two  distinguished,  hand- 
some people,  in  whom  he  took  more  than  an  ordinary 
interest,  somehow. 

"  Was  that  what  you  came  to  tell  me  to-day  ? " 
George  asked,  at  last. 

His  eyes  had  been  hungrily  but  surreptitiously 
drinking  in  the  sight  of  her  fairness  again,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  she  was  lovelier  than  ever,  though  she 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  321 

was  strangely  changed  by  the  way  she  was  doing  her 
hair. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  awkwardly  battling  with  words 
that  would  not  come.  "  I  came,  of  course,  chiefly 

because  of — because  of  the "  (she  wanted  to  say 

the  word  "theft,"  but  it  was  impossible  to  utter  it) 
"  because  of  the  dressing-bag  and  the  plans.  I  have 
news  of  them.  I  have  discovered  the  culprit,  and  in 
a  few  hours  the  police  will  be  acquainted  with  the 
news,  and  your  freedom  can  now  only  be  a  question 
of  a  very  short  time.  The  thief  was  a  woman." 

He  stared  dumbly  at  her  still,  and  in  that  moment 
it  came  to  him  with  clear  and  convincing  certainty 
that  she  was  not,  and  never  could  have  been,  guilty, 
and  that  he  must  have  been  insane  to  imagine  such 
a  thing. 

"  And  I — and  oh !  George,  how  is  it  possible  that 
you  could  have  believed  that  I  was  the  woman  ?  Never 
as  long  as  I  live  shall  I  be  able  to  understand  how 
you  could  have  thought  that  of  me  !  You  must  have 
hated,  and  loathed,  and  despised  me,  before  your  brain 
or  your  heart  could  have  allowed  you  to  think  any- 
thing so  monstrous  about  me.  It  was  cruel — it  was 
wicked  .  .  .  and  all  the  time  the  guilty  one  was  some 
one  you  knew — and  loved,  perhaps." 

"  Tell  me  her  name,"  he  breathed,  light  breaking 
in  upon  him  almost  before  she  replied. 

"  It  was  the  Countess  de  Rigos !  She  has  made 
a  full  confession,  before  me  and  a  witness ;  she  stole 
the  plans  and  entered  my  rooms  in  disguise,  and  put 
the  plans  in  my  bag  to  revenge  herself  on  you 
because  you  had  thrown  her  over  and  refused  to 
marry  her  after  you  met  me." 

Then  the  turnkey,  who  was  looking  in  at  that 
moment,  as  it  happened,  saw  an  extraordinary  sight. 

The  glum,  sad  Englishman  suddenly  burst  into 
loud  and  spontaneous  laughter,  the  first  that  had 
issued  from  his  lips  for  many  a  long  day. 

"  I  threw  over  the  Countess  de  Rigos  !  I  refused 

Y 


322  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

to  marry  her !  Why,  this  is  indeed  a  comedy !  So 
that  is  her  story — the  brave  liar — that's  the  way  she's 
putting  it  now !  Really,  it  is  too  funny,  and  you  must 
forgive  me  if  I  laugh.  One  has  not  very  often  the 
opportunities  for  amusement  within  these  walls,  and 
I  take  advantage  now  of  the  droll  thing  you  have  just 
told  me.  So  she  stole  the  plans  and  put  them  in  the 
dressing-bag,  did  she  ? " 

He  said  the  words,  but  his  mind  somehow  refused 
to  realise  in  the  least  what  he  was  saying. 

That  terrible  clouding  of  the  faculties  that  comes 
over  the  keenest  intelligence  after  many  days  of  the 
drab  and  endless  monotony  of  prison  life  had  deadened 
him.  He  seemed  half-awake  only.  It  was  all  a  dream, 
he  thought,  that  Theodora  was  standing  there  before 
him,  telling  him  that  "  Mrs.  Packinthorp  "  was  a  thief, 
and  had  confessed,  and  that  he  would  be  free  in  a  few 
hours.  It  was  too  unreal  and  vague  to  be  grasped, 
and  he  stared  at  her  stupidly,  simply  waiting  to  know 
what  she  would  say  and  do  next. 

Little  did  he  guess  how  terribly  his  dulness  and 
silence  affected  her,  and  how  she  was  reading  into  it, 
heart-brokenly,  his  coldness  and  distrust  and  dislike  of 
her,  even  now  at  this  moment  when  she  had  brought 
him  the  wonderful  news  of  the  confession  that  she  had 
wrested  from  the  Countess  de  Rigos's  guilty  lips.  And 
yet  his  laughter  at  the  Countess's  story  that  he  had 
loved  her  filled  her  with  a  strange  secret  joy. 

"  Theodora ! " 

He  spoke  her  name  as  if  the  sound  of  it  might 
help  him  to  dispel  the  mist  in  his  brain. 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

How  she  longed  for  him  to  say  one  little  word  of 
tenderness  to  her  ;  she  was  weak  and  exhausted,  and 
was  almost  at  the  point  of  fainting,  and  yet  she  re- 
mained there  standing  before  him,  looking  at  him, 
and  craving  with  all  her  heart  and  soul  for  the  sign 
of  his  love  that  he  so  pitilessly  withheld  from  her. 

"  What  of  Marcel  Fleur  ? "  he  said. 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  323 

"  Marcel  Fleur !  I  have  heard  nothing  of  him," 
she  answered.  ..."  Ah !  I  remember  what  you're 
thinking  of.  ...  You've  gone  back  to  that  old  point 
of  difference  between  us." 

"  Yes.  Heaven  forgive  me,  I  have,"  he  answered. 
"  There's  that  secret  between  you  still.  ..." 

Neither  of  them  just  then  was  in  the  least  like 
a  normal  human  being,  but  who  could  ask  a  man  who 
had  lain  in  prison  for  weeks  for  a  crime  which  he  had 
never  committed  to  be  a  normal  and  ordinary  human 
being  at  a  moment's  notice  ?  And  as  for  Theodora, 
her  mind  and  her  frame  were  almost  at  the  last  gasp 
of  endurance  after  those  terrible  journeys  across 
Europe,  and  after  all  the  agony  and  suspense  she  had 
been  going  through.  The  wits  of  both  were  be- 
clouded. They  were  like  people  in  a  trance.  Fain 
would  they  have  awakened  themselves,  but  neither 
knew  how  to,  and  yet  one  thing  was  clear  to  Theo- 
dora's mind. 

She  would  not  betray  Marcel's  secret. 

"Are  you  going  to  tell  me  the  truth  about  it 
now  ?  "  George  asked. 

"  Heaven  help  me,  George,  but  I  cannot.  Don't 
ask  me.  The  same  motive  that  kept  me  silent  then 
must  keep  me  silent  now." 

The  turnkey  had  opened  the  door  and  entered. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  said,  "  the  gentleman  who  accom- 
panied madame  sends  you  this  paper,  and  bids  you 
read  here,"  he  pointed  with  his  finger,  "the  death 
of  Marcel  Fleur,  the  aeronaut — the  journal  tells  all 
about  it."  He  put  the  paper  in  George's  hand. 
"  There  is  only  one  moment  left,  monsieur,"  he  said 
respectfully,  "  then  madame's  time  is  up." 

Like  a  wild  thing  Theodora  snatched  the  paper 
from  George's  hand  and  devoured  the  black,  staring 
headlines  which  set  forth  the  news  of  Marcel's  demon- 
stration and  its  shocking  ending. 

"  He  is  dead,"  she  cried,  "  dead !  dead  !  ...  He 
is  no  longer  in  the  world  to  be  harmed  by  my  telling. 


324  THEODORA'S   HUSBAND 

.  .  .  Oh !  George — George,  I  am  free  at  last  to  tell 
you  the  secret  that  I  have  always  refused  to  betray 
to  you  hitherto.  .  .  .  Listen  ! " 

"  No  !     No  !     Don't  tell  me,"  cried  George. 

Before  she  could  speak  he  had  seized  her  in  his 
arms.  And  the  turnkey  was  satisfied  now  ;  for  the 
English  milord  was  holding  the  beautiful  lady  close, 
and  kissing  her  as  though  he  never  meant  to  let  her 
go  again. 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

CLASPED  in  George's  arms  again,  held  close  to  his 
heart  once  more,  it  seemed  to  Theodora  as  if  some 
incredible  change  came  over  the  sad,  old  world,  that 
is  made  up  of  such  devious  mixtures  of  gall  and 
honey — of  bitter  and  sweet — of  blackest  midnight 
shadows  and  ever-succeeding  sunrises  ;  it  seemed  to 
her  as  if  she  had  been  dead  and  buried  for  centuries, 
and  was  now  restored  to  life  by  some  supernatural 
power  that  had  brought  her  back  in  one  miraculous 
moment  to  the  full  tide  of  life  and  joy. 

The  magic  of  the  moment  was  all  contained  in  the 
clasp  of  George's  arms. 

Only  a  few  words  fell  from  his  lips,  for  he,  too, 
was  tasting  one  of  those  immortal  moments  when  the 
pain  and  suffering  of  life  become  as  unreal  and 
meaningless  as  chaff  in  the  wind  before  the  great 
current  of  love  ;  he,  too,  was  in  Heaven  ;  to  him 
the  old  prison  walls  had  vanished,  the  turnkey,  who 
was  waiting  so  patiently  and  humanely  outside  the 
glass  door,  had  no  longer  any  existence,  the  gloom  of 
rapidly  descending  night  was  like  some  lovely  sunrise 
breaking  over  a  fairy-like  tropic  isle  in  the  southern 
seas.  Prison  !  Paris  !  Disgrace  and  shame  !  Sleep- 
lessness and  long  hours  of  anguish  and  despair !  All 
in  a  moment  these  things  had  lost  every  semblance  of 
reality.  They  were  not  real — not  one  of  them — they 
were  simply  hallucinations  of  his  brain !  He  had 
dreamt  them  in  nightmares !  Nothing  on  earth 
was  real  but  the  woman  he  held  in  his  arms. 

325 


326  THEODORA'S.  HUSBAND 

"  What  fools  we've  been,  dearest ! "  he  muttered, 
holding  her  closer. 

"  I  have  been  the  one  to  blame  always." 

"  Such  fools.  .  .  .  This  moment  teaches  it  to  us : 
our  wanton  monstrous  folly.  .  .  .  Oh  !  my  love,"  he 
went  on  brokenly,  "  now  that  I  have  you  in  my  arms 
again  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  must  have  been  stark, 
staring  mad  ever  to  have  let  you  go  even  for  a 
moment !  .  .  .  Was  I  a  lunatic,  indeed,  that  I  could 
ever  have  doubted  you  or  looked  coldly  upon  you, 
or  turned  away  from  you,  and  hardened  my  heart 
against  you,  and  believed  cruel  and  maddening  things 
about  you  ?  .  .  .  How  could  I  have  done  so  ?  ... 
How  could  I  ever  have  dreamt  that  anything  mattered 
beside  the  fact  that  you  were  my  beloved  ?  .  .  .  What 
on  earth  was  wrong  with  me  that  I  could  act  so 
outrageously  ?  " 

He  put  his  hand  under  her  chin  and  raised  her 
face  to  his  and  looked  long  into  her  eyes. 

"Dearest,"  he  said,  "how  are  we  to  explain 
it?" 

Over  the  whiteness  of  Theodora's  face  there  went 
flitting  an  exquisite  little  smile,  full  of  sweetness 
and  joy. 

"  I  can  explain  it,  George,"  she  said.  "  It  is  not 
as  hard  as  you  think." 

"  Tell  me,"  whispered  George. 

"One  word  explains  it  all,"  she  replied  softly, 
winding  her  arms  round  his  neck  as  she  spoke,  and 
laying  her  cheek  to  his.  And  she  whispered  in  his 
ear,  "  It  was  love." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
George  said — 

"  Was  that  it  ?  " 

And  it  seemed  to  him  that  her  way  of  explaining 
all  the  trouble  that  had  arisen  between  them  was  the 
most  beautiful  thing  that  he  had  ever  heard.  It  was 
so  true,  too.  Man-like,  he  was  amazed  at  the  feminine 
quickness  that  had  cut  through  all  the  mystery  and 


THEODORA'S   HUSBAND  327 

complication  in  one  moment  and  wiped  everything 
out  by  the  utterance  of  that  explanation. 

"And  this  moment  proves  it,"  said  Theodora. 
"  The  way  everything  we  have  been  agonising  our- 
selves about  has  come  in  one  second  not  to  matter 
a  little  bit  shows  that  what  I  say  is  right." 

"Dearest,  you  love  me  then?"  .  .  . 

He  was  strangely  moved  by  her  words  and  the 
courage  with  which  she  flung  aside  all  the  darkness 
and  difficulties  of  their  past  and  their  future,  all  the 
overhanging  cloud  and  scandal  and  public  contumely 
and  criticism  that  lay  before  them.  He  saw  that  she 
had  forgotten  all  that.  And  he  was  glad.  He  realised 
that  she  had  risen  to  one  of  the  highest  moments  of 
a  woman's  existence  when  she  so  sweetly  turned  all 
their  troubles  aside  with  the  utterance  of  that  magic 
word,  love. 

"  You  really  love  me  ?  .  .  .  This  isn't  a  dream, 
is  it?  ...  It's  you — my  Theodora,  whose  arms  are 
round  my  neck,  and  whose  warm  breath  is  in  my 
ear?  .  .  .  And  you  care  for  me  with  all  your  heart 
and  soul,  in  spite  of  the  awful  wrong  I  have  done  you?" 

For  answer  her  arms  clung  closer  round  his  neck. 

"  The  awful  wrong  you've  done  me,"  she  echoed. 
"  What  was  it  ?  I  never  heard  of  that,  George. 
There  was  never  any  such  wrong." 

"When  I  believed — in  my  incredible  lunacy — that 
you — that  you  had  gone  off  with  Marcel's  plans." 

She  smiled  up  into  his  eyes  as  he  spoke. 

"  How  could  you  help  it  ?  "  she  said.  "  My  dis- 
appearance and  those  scraps  of  my  letters  to  poor 
Marcel  were  too  great  coincidences  .  .  .  and  though 
you  did  believe  that  I  had  taken  them,  you  far  more 
than  atoned  for  your  suspicion  of  me  by  pretending 
that  you  were  the  guilty  one  and  going  to  prison  for 
my  sake." 

They  clung  to  each  other  in  silence,  as  the  recol- 
lection of  all  they  had  suffered  swept  over  them  again. 
But  it  could  not  part  them — that  recollection.  On 


328  THEODORA'S    HUSBAND 

the  contrary,  it  had  been  transformed  into  some 
magic  wand,  whose  mission  was  to  drive  them  closer 
and  closer. 

The  turnkey  had  been  very  patient ;  but  now  ten 
whole  minutes  over  time  had  passed,  and  the  governor 
would  soon  be  coming  round,  and  he  realised  that  he 
must  no  longer  be  a  man,  with  a  human  heart  that 
was  beating  a  little  gladly  because  these  two  beautiful 
beings  were  clasped  in  each  other's  arms ;  he  must  be 
a  turnkey,  and  announce  to  them  in  a  stern,  official 
voice  :  "  Monsieur,  your  time  is  up !  " 

And  the  secret  of  Marcel  had  been  utterly  for- 
gotten by  both  of  them  ! 

L'ENVOI 

Far  away  in  the  monastery  on  a  cypress-covered 
hill,  looking  down  on  endless  olive  slopes  across 
the  blue  waters  of  the  Mediterranean,  is  a  dark- 
haired,  southern-looking  ascetic,  who  is  known  by 
the  name  of  Brother  Ignace.  For  him  life  was  over, 
once  and  for  all,  when  he  discovered  the  falseness 
of  his  lovely  wife.  Nothing  was  left  to  him  but 
prayer  and  solitude,  in  the  hope  of  atoning  for  the 
violent  deeds  which  had  marked  his  life  out  in  the 
world.  He  is  beloved  by  all ;  he  has  brought  hither 
a  great  fortune,  and  now  he  spends  his  days  and 
nights  in  doing  good.  And  he  clings  to  the  thought 
of  the  Countess  de  Rigos's  confession  in  his  darkest 
moments. 

"At  the  end  she  was  true,"  he  said,  poor,  poor 
Ignace ! 

To-day,  the  most  honoured  name  in  France  is  that 
of  Ivan  Ivolott,  the  great  inventor  of  airships.  To 
Paris  it  was  like  magic,  the  way  he  came  and  filled 
the  terrible  blank  caused  by  Marcel  Fleur's  loss. 
His  brilliant  successes  are  the  talk  of  Europe  ;  but  he 
is  still  the  gentle  old  Ivan,  and  he  weeps  when  he 
thinks  of  Marcel's  death. 


THEODORA'S    HUSBAND  329 

And  George  and  Theodora !  Is  it  necessary  to 
say  that  all  the  happiness  of  utter  trust  and  love  is 
theirs  ?  Little  children  play  merrily  in  their  beautiful 
home  now ;  and  William  East  is  almost  always  to  be 
found  there,  the  dear  friend  of  the  master  and 
mistress  of  the  house,  and  of  the  Princess. 

He  is  treated  exactly  like  a  brother.  His  old 
mother  has  passed  away,  and  George's  house  is  his 
real  home  now  .  .  .  and  dear  Carolina  sums  him  up 
in  her  own  adorable  little  phrase, — "  Very  reech,  very 
'ansome,  very  facksinating,"  and  sighs,  who  knows 
why? 

And  so  let  us  ring  down  the  curtain  upon  George 
and  Theodora.  The  drama  is  ended.  The  lights 
are  out. 


THE  END 


PRINTED    BY   WILLIAM  CLOWES  AND  SONS,    LIMITED,    LONDON   AND   BECCLBS. 


A     000  131  006     9 


